Getting the Best of the Gloomilows
by zaubernuss
Summary: After their life-changing encounter, Severus is adamant that he and Hermione keep their distance until graduation. But how can he turn his back when he finds that Hermione is suffering? Can Occlumency help? A story about healing & finding new perspective. M-rated (to be on the safe side) - for adult themes, descriptions of violence, mild PTSD and sexual content. SS/HG
1. The Incident in the Hallway

_This is a sequel to 'A Kiss for the Netherfairies'. You might be able to read this story without having read it first, but if you do, some things will probably not make sense. In a nutshell, this is what happened previously: Hermione has to fulfil a vow she made during the Trio's search for Horcruxes, which leads to a very lengthy talk between her and the Potions Master. During that – in parts very emotional – discussion about previous events and motivations that led to them, important secrets are revealed with regard to Severus' role in the war and his relationship to Harry and Hermione. Hermione confesses her longstanding attraction to him, and in the course of the evening, they discover that there might be more to their relationship than they both had thought possible._

 _Though the sequel is less of a chamber play and has a little bit more 'action', you will once again find Hermione and Severus in lengthy discussions... about how Hermione managed to obliviate her parents and what became of them, the fine and subtle art of Occlumency and Legilimency, what's really behind the pureblood ideology and what the Hogwarts librarian has to do with it. Furthermore, those discussions reveal how Draco feels about Harry and Hermione now, how Harry's relationship with Snape develops and the concern Luna has for many Hogwarts inhabitants, who are suffering a severe outbreak of Gloomilows. You will also learn about Bluedrags, Whotnits, and Weapknats and the truth behind Lemon Sherbets._

 _This is intended to be an emotional character study and slowly developing love story.  
_

* * *

 **The Incident in the Hallway**

Friday evenings at Hogwarts were usually quiet, at least for the staff. Most teachers avoided giving out detentions on the last day of the week – not primarily for the sake of the students, but rather for their own. With the weekend coming, one could put off some of the classwork in favour of a relaxing evening with colleagues at the Hogshead for a glass of firewhisky and a game of Gobstones or to share the latest gossip.

The Potions Professor was not known for either activity, but he always looked forward to a quiet, solitary Friday-evening dinner in his rooms instead of sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall. He had just finished his habitual evening shower and was in the middle of re-dressing, when the schoolnurse's sheepdog Patronus burst into his quarters.

"Severus – I need you in the hospital wing immediately," Poppy's clipped voice informed him. "There has been an unfortunate Gryffindor-Slytherin run-in, and one of your house has been injured. Minerva is attending a board meeting and not available. Someone needs to sort out what has brought about this attack."

As soon as the dog had delivered the message, it dissipated, and Severus quickly slipped into his vest and frock coat and spelled the buttons closed. Though he had firmly refused to be reinstated as headmaster after his long convalescence, he had grudgingly agreed to accept the deputy position. Minerva simply wouldn't stop pestering him, ultimately to the point of begging him on her knees. None of the other teachers had volunteered, and frankly, none of them were intimidating and formidable enough to keep the ministry bureaucrats in line and their noses out of Hogwarts' business. The board meeting tonight was just about the usual, mostly technical stuff – nothing Minerva couldn't handle, or he would have gone in her stead.

He was high on adrenaline when he rushed to the hospital wing instead, his robes billowing behind him. Poppy's message about a Slytherin-Gryffindor confrontation had conjured up unwelcome memories of a similar incident two years ago, when his one godson had been cursed by the other to the point of near-death with a nasty spell of Severus' own creation.

He half expected to find Draco lying in a pool of blood, and his dark-haired attacker staring down at him with a blank expression. He even felt his emotions resurface, the dread and fear he had felt at the possibility of Draco dying, and the cold fury at Harry Potter, who had shamelessly and remorselessly lied to his face.

Instead, he was very surprised to find a knocked-out first-year Slytherin and a very distraught Hermione Granger, and his heart gave an extra beat.

"The boy got hit by a stunner and was thrown against a wall in the library corridor," the nurse explained briefly, while tending to the child. She threw another diagnostic spell and frowned. "I think he might have a concussion, but I'll have to awaken him to know for sure. Please see to Miss Granger while I take care of young Mr. McGregor, Severus."

He quickly scanned the girl who was huddled on the edge of one of the hospital beds. "Is she injured, too?" he asked, grateful for his ability to hide his feelings and remain outwardly calm, no matter how his heart raced. She didn't seem hurt, at least not in a way he could assess at first glance. Had she been there when the boy was attacked and tried to help?

"No," Poppy replied. "Apparently, she's the one who threw the stunner."

Disbelievingly, his eyes flew back from the nurse to the Gryffindor, who had been on his mind more often than not in the last couple of weeks. No matter how hard he had tried to shake memories of a certain encounter with her from his head, he had been utterly unsuccessful. Images of her standing in front of him, fiercely arguing her point, crying tears over his near demise, and smiling at him with affection in her eyes – they were all burned into his retina. There were other memories that were even more persistent and stole into his dreams at night... that of a soft and yielding body in his arms and sweet lips pressed to his... but at least in his waking moments, he managed to keep those firmly locked behind his Occlumency walls. Right now, she was a picture of misery and guilt, her head buried in the arms she had slung around her drawn knees.

"You threw a stunner at a fellow student?" he asked, feeling a mixture of confusion and shock. "Why, in Merlin's name?"

She didn't even look up, and he wasn't sure if she hadn't heard him or if she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes.

"Miss Granger!" he snapped, his voice a little sharper than he had intended. His authoritative tone got through to her. Her head rose, and he could see that she was pale as death. There was moisture pooling in her eyes, threatening to overflow any moment.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, her legs slipping out from her hold. She threw her arms around her upper body instead and started to slightly rock back and forth. "I didn't mean to! He scared me, and I drew my wand... I only meant to defend myself!"

"From a first year?" He didn't get it. "What did he do that warranted sending him headfirst into a wall?"

"Nothing – he did nothing!" She broke into tears. "He came jumping at me from behind a tapestry all of a sudden. He startled me. I thought it was..."

"A Snatcher," he finished for her, as understanding dawned.

She nodded, her small frame shaking. "I wasn't really thinking at all. It happened so fast. I just reacted."

He looked at the sobbing girl and could have hit himself for not seeing it right away. She clearly was in shock. "Please stop crying," he said more softly now, reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm her. For a moment, he felt the strange urge to just gather her in his arms – something he had never done with anyone in his life, not even with crying, home-sick Slytherin firsties. His usual method of comfort was to give out hankies and pretty much tell them the same thing he had just told her. And usually, it had about the same effect it had on Granger. None whatsoever.

"I can't!" she wailed miserably. "I almost killed him!"

"Nonsense," he reasoned, feeling totally out of his depth. "You just knocked him out. Your stunners are not forceful enough to cause serious harm." At least, that had been something he had always berated her for when he'd been her teacher in Defence. And while it was true that the power behind her combative spells was lacking when aimed at a grown person, it was probably a different case with a mere slip of a boy like McGregor. And she probably knew that, as his attempt at logic didn't comfort her either.

"It's my fault he's in the hospital wing, all bruised and bloody."

He pulled a blanket from one of the beds and wrapped it around her shoulder. It would have to do. "He isn't bloody," he said. At least that much was true. "And he'll be up again in no time. Poppy is taking care of him as we speak. Now calm down and talk to me. What exactly happened?"

She pulled the blanket close around her, seeming grateful for the warmth and for having something to cling to. "I think it was supposed to be a joke," she said, wiping her face. "He came jumping out from behind a tapestry when I was walking to the library. I hexed him before I even saw what was coming at me."

In that, she had certainly shown remarkable reflexes. "How did you manage to draw your wand so quickly?" he inquired.

"I didn't. I already had it ready at hand."

"You were only walking to the library," he repeated with a frown, suspicion forming in his guts. "Why were you holding your wand ready to attack?"

"I didn't think about it..." she said, barely audible. "It's become a habit. I go nowhere without having my wand ready anymore. I even go to sleep with it."

"I see." It wasn't surprising after what she'd been through. Most likely, it had saved all their lives a couple of times. However, the fact that she still was so on edge that she couldn't relax even in sleep and had her wand ready even while walking in the corridors of Hogwarts spoke of more deep trauma than he had realised. "Young McGregor seems to be a bit of a prankster. He probably didn't know how unwise it is to pull that kind of joke on someone who has fought in a war. I'll make sure that this matter is addressed. Your quick reaction was commendable, and while on the run, it probably saved lives, but now it's putting your fellow students at risk. You need to let down your guard."

"Do you think I don't know that?" she asked, angrily wiping her eyes. "What do you suggest I do?"

"For now, I suggest you take a calming potion and get some rest. It's probably best if you stay here for the night, too."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're clearly not fine, Miss Granger. I can see how you're shaking. I'll send Miss Weasley up here – she can fetch whatever you might need from your room, or you can ask a house elf to bring it. Poppy?"

The matron, who had finished tending to his Slytherin, came over. "How is the boy?"

"A mild concussion and some bumps and bruises. He'll be alright. It'd be best if you spoke to him, though. He's a bit rattled right now. He literally doesn't know what hit him."

"I'll speak to him and also inform Minerva. You might want to give Miss Granger a Draught of Peace and keep her here for the night. She's a bit rattled, too."

"Professor Snape?" Hermione caught his sleeve when he turned to leave. "Please tell Malcolm I'm really, really sorry."

"I will. But don't worry about it now. Get some rest, Miss Granger."

*'*'*'*'*'*'*

Minerva, once informed about what had happened, decided to rule the incident an unfortunate accident rather that an attack on fellow student and forwent handing out punishment, and for once, Severus agreed with this leniency. They made sure that especially younger students were made aware of the fact that people who had needed to fear for their safety during the whole last year were not prone to react kindly to being ambushed or scared. His Slytherin had been just as mortified about his ill-conceived prank as his victim-turned-attacker once he had made him understand what students, especially those of other houses than Slytherin, had been confronted with during last year's reign of terror, and he had apologised to Hermione.

Severus himself hadn't spoken to the girl since, except during his lessons. He tried hard to think of her only as 'the girl' or Miss Granger, as if she was just another student. But maintaining that self-deception was getting increasingly difficult the more often he thought about her, and due to the incident in the hallway, she was now more prominent in his mind than ever.

Though he hadn't voiced his concerns to the Headmistress, the incident had him worried. Constant vigilance was fine, as long as it didn't turn into full-fledged paranoia. Mad-Eye-Moody had been the living proof of that. He wondered if Miss Granger's obviously high stress-levels called for intervention.

He observed her more keenly, but found to his relief that it must have been a one time incident. She seemed relaxed enough in his class. He looked for signs of unusual agitation or distress, but she seemed perfectly at ease. If anything, she was a little too nonchalant for his liking. Her potions were still faultless, albeit a result of mechanical routine rather than inspiration. She responded when asked a question, but rarely volunteered and raised her hand in class. A lot of times, he had the impression that her mind wasn't entirely focussed on the subject at hand.

He had first feared that her new-found ease or rather laxity with Potions was a disconcerting consequence of the shift in their relationship – that she was taking liberties after his moment of weakness. There was no denying that he didn't intimidate her anymore. When he scowled, scolded and rained acerbic comments, she lowered her head like all the other students, but he sometimes had the strong suspicion that she was in truth hiding a smile. Nobody would find fault with her demeanor, as it remained respectful and unobstrusive, but she seemed unfazed by any critique or harsh comment he made. Her new-found serenity was unfamiliar, as she had always seemed most hurt and angered by his cutting remarks.

A discrete inquiry among her other teachers revealed that this loss of drive was a general development which had been prominent even at the beginning of the school year. She did her assignments dutifully, but without the over-eagerness and ambition she had always displayed before. Her essays now seldom extended above the required length of parchment, and while he appreciated the new brevity when correcting, it was in itself very atypical for the girl who had always gone way above and beyond of what was required.

Of course, they all had changed after the war, but with her, the changes were at the same time more subtle and yet more pronounced. She had matured and lost a lot of those characteristics he had always found annoying: The constant need to prove herself which had come across as showing-off; her over-correctness, which had sometimes unpleasantly reminded him of Percy Weasley. There had always been a touch of 'too much' on everything she did. If it was now toned down to a degree that it no longer screamed from every action, it was a positive development.

So he let her be for the moment – not that he had much choice, anyway. It'd be extremely hypocritical of him if he scolded her for not raising her hand at every question, when he had admonished and ridiculed her for doing so for years.

However, he continued to have an eye on her, inside his class and out. He told himself that it was just to watch out for anything that might give reason for concern, but deep inside he knew that he was lying to himself. He simply was unable to _not_ watch her. She was often on his mind, whether he saw her or not. Their one-night encounter in his office had shaken him more than he was prepared to admit to himself.

He still couldn't quite comprehend how it had happened. In a persisting, rational and rather courageous manner she had talked herself under his skin. It had taken him a couple of days to analyse their lengthy discussion. He even re-watched his memories of it in a Pensive, reassuring himself that he hadn't dreamed the whole incident, and figuring out his own feelings. There was no denying it: She had turned a huge part of his world – and of his self-conception – upside down. The entire situation was confusing, to put it mildly. It surely promised a world of trouble.

He didn't know what he felt for her now – his emotions were almost as much in a tangle where she was concerned as his feelings regarding The-Boy-Who-Lived were. He was impressed with her. Greatly so. Her braveness, her openness of mind and her unwavering loyalty awed him. Her intellect, her intuition and her empathy were utterly astounding in a girl so young. He was amazed at her strength in the light of everything she had had to endure. Yet he had come to feel oddly protective of her.

This was perhaps the most puzzling fact, as he had never really felt protective of anyone, not even of Potter. Keeping him alive had been more of a duty, a commitment, but certainly not a heart-felt yearning. He wondered why he felt it so strongly for her. Maybe because, despite her demonstration of strength, she looked frail and vulnerable ever since she had returned to Hogwarts? She had always been a small thing, but now she was also too thin, too pale. He had noticed that she didn't seem to eat much during meals. A lot of time, she loaded her plate, but merely shifted the food around on it after having taken a few bites.

As her teacher, he felt responsible for his student's well-being, and that sense of duty even extended to Gryffindors. But he couldn't shake the growing suspicion that what he felt was more than just the responsibility of a teacher towards his pupils. Something in her called out to him, something that he was only subconsciously aware of.

So he continued to watch her for clues as to what it might be that had him so oddly – entangled.

* * *

 _Sorry - the first chapter is a bit short. The ones to follow (most likely another 15) will be longer. As always, your comments are very welcome!_


	2. The Soothing Quality of Potions

Summary of Chapter 1 - The Incident in the Hallway

Hermione is scared by a first year who plays a prank on her. She inadvertently hexes him and injures him in the process. Severus is called to the hospital wing in the Headmistress' absence. He realises that something is amiss with the Gryffindor student with whom he shares a very special relationship and decides to keep an even closer eye on her.

 _A/N: I hope no one is getting alerts all over again - I've just been revising this chapter (correcting some spelling errors and restructuring a few sentences). I might do the same with the coming chapters, too._

* * *

 **The Soothing Qualities of Potions**

Although her friends insisted that she wasn't to blame and that the boy should have known better, Hermione had taken her involuntary attack on a fellow student very much to heart. She had been shocked to realise that her paranoia put innocents at risk and took active measures to ensure that it wouldn't happen again. From that day on, she made a conscious effort to always store away her wand when she roamed the hallways, but it took a lot out of her and put her in a constant state of nervous alertness. She felt naked and defenceless without her wand in her hand, although she couldn't have said against what she thought she needed to defend herself.

True, there were still a few Death Eaters out there who had so far evaded capture, but Aurors were on the look-out for them all over the country, so they were well advised to stay in hiding. Even the Slytherins, who had been the only students relatively safe from the Carrows' reign of terror, hadn't given anybody trouble since the start of the new term. While they had felt safe in the knowledge that they had the upper hand last year – which had encouraged some of them to prance around and act worse than ever – they preferred keeping a low profile now.

This was even true for Draco Malfoy, who acted uncharacteristically subdued. For the first time since Hermione had known him, he was behaving downright decently, which had been a little perturbing at first. But then, there were a lot of things she found perturbing, lately. There was really no explanation as to why she was so high-strung and jumpy now that the danger was over, but she really would've felt better with her wand in her hand.

At least she still had her small beaded bag with her at all times, safely hidden in her robes. It was probably an exaggerated precaution, but it gave her a small sense of security. Whatever happened, she was prepared.

Hermione was aware that, aside from bearing physical scars, she was emotionally damaged at some level, too. They probably all were, but only after the incident in the hallway did she realise to what extent she herself had been affected.

When Minerva had offered all students who hadn't been able to take their N.E.W.T.s last year to return to Hogwarts and finish their education, Hermione had accepted with an immense feeling of relief. Hogwarts was her home, especially now that she had no other place to go. Her parents were still in Australia, oblivious to the fact that they even had a daughter.

Helping to undo the damage to the castle and to make sure that school term could resume as usual had been therapeutic. She wished it was just as simple to clear away the debris inside her own mind – those ugly scars that still gave testimony to all she had been through in the last year.

She had thought that peace, once reestablished, would bring happiness and a life full of possibilities. But instead, she found herself feeling strangely adrift. For years, every thought, every plan, every action had been dedicated to bringing forth a world without Voldemort in it. He had always been the influencing factor behind everything, her thoughts, even her dreams. And now that he was finally gone, all purpose seemed to have gone with him.

Hermione cast a wistful glance at her friends who were sitting at the table next to her, oblivious to her woolgathering, as their attention was focussed on their teacher. Harry and Ron at least had plans. They had both been pre-accepted into the Auror Department – under the condition that they completed their last year in Hogwarts and got the required N.E.W.T. scores. That, unfortunately, included an A in Potions.

Finally having the right motivation, they were both following the lecture with rapt attention. It helped that the disdain they had formerly held for their most hated teacher had changed into something that could be called grudging respect, tinted with a hint of guilt for having been proven wrong for mistrusting him so long, and an equal measure of annoyance at the fact.

Harry and Ron had always assumed that Hermione wanted to become an Auror, too. But the job had held little attraction for her even before the war, and certainly even less now that it was over. She had seen enough violence for a lifetime, and after her ordeal at Malfoy Manor, she'd be happy if she never came face to face with a dark wizard ever again. Memories of Bellatrix and Greyback still haunted her and gave her nightmares. She filed that away as normal; after all, she wasn't the only one who suffered from them. A lot of people who had fought in the final battle were showing mild to severe symptoms of PTSD.

She knew for sure that Ron suffered from it, although he never talked about it. His strategy had been to firmly push all thoughts of the war from his mind. For him, it was over, period. Apart from putting a ban of silence on everything that concerned the last year, his coping method was the same that he had applied to all stressful situations: snogging and shagging. It had been the only reason, Hermione had realised in retrospective, for their very brief affair about a year ago. She had known they were different to the point of incompatibility, but at a time when both had felt despair and utter desolation, it had seemed right. After all, they had always been together, and being there for each other in a more intimate way had been the next logical step.

But logic only worked so far when feelings were concerned. Being with Ron had been familiar, it had been what everybody expected, it hadn't required a lot of soul searching. But while they had friendship and loyalty, they lacked passion and trust. Hermione had never really gotten over Ron's abandonment in the Forest of Dean. Due to this deep disappointment – and for a lot of other reasons, too – she didn't feel anything for him anymore apart from friendship, and even that, she had come to realise, was a bit unbalanced. Ron had never been exceptionally deep or understanding. Now that he had so many problems of his own to deal with, he had become even more self-centred. He never saw that she was suffering, too.

All that Ron had perceived of the hollowness she felt deep inside was a lack of passion in their relationship. Hurt by her coldness, he had come to the conclusion that she must be frigid. No surprise there – she had always been the bookworm, the braniac, whose only passion had been learning. Her views and her actions were usually the result of a careful thought-process; passion didn't really fit into that.

So they had separated – officially they were still friends, but they were both hurt by each other's rejection and the loss of closeness that came with it. They didn't really have much to say to each other at the moment.

With Harry, it was different. He and Hermione had an understanding about each other that didn't require many words. Nevertheless, Hermione had kept herself slightly apart from him when he was so much in the limelight in the aftermath of the war. He was The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, rescuer of the wizard world, a hero. There was no day without an article in the Daily Prophet about him, nowhere he could go without being tailed by reporters. Harry somehow had found a way to deal with it. After all, he had been famous all his life; he was used to people staring at him, people having expectations of him, people admiring him.

But Hermione couldn't deal with being in the focus of publicity. It made her want to melt into the floor and become invisible. She didn't see herself as hero – there were others who deserved that title. People who had devoted their entire lives to the cause, and had suffered beyond measure for it.

She cast a glance at her Potions Professor, who was demonstrating the right way to handle the ingredients required for the particularly nasty potion they were supposed to brew today. _He_ was a hero. A man who deserved so much better than what he got. A man whom she wished happiness more than anyone besides Harry.

She had not seen much of him outside Potions class – except for that moment in the hospital wing, when she had been too distraught to appreciate the fact that he had been there. Although she had never shared time with him before their one-night-encounter a few weeks ago, she now missed him. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about, ask him or simply tell him to unburden her mind. But it wasn't going to be. For another seven months, just watching him and listening to him in Potions class would have to be enough.

With an internal sigh, Hermione re-focussed her attention on the right technique for peeling the delicate, silver skin from the juicy bulbs of the Moonflower without tearing it and rendering it useless for the potion. It seemed easy and effortless when he did it. His hands were working quickly and deftly and with the same economical precision that was typical for his entire demeanour. Hermione had always had a partiality for hands, and his were perfect: Long fingers, well-groomed, nicely shaped nails and visible veins on the back of his hands. Slender, yet strong and manly.

Like always, she became enthralled with the precision and efficiency of his movements and the intense focus he was applying to his task. Not for the first time, she envisioned herself at the centre of his rapt attention, wondering how his graceful fingers would feel handling her delicate skin instead...

A sharp voice cut into her wandering thoughts. "Miss Granger!"

Startled, Hermione looked up and found her Potions Professor looking at her with a frown on his forehead. Her face flashed hot. Merlin! Hopefully, the rumours that he routinely Legilimised students in his class were merely that – rumours. "Sir?" she asked, hardly daring to meet his eyes.

"If it's not too much to ask, would you kindly answer my question?"

"I... I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't hear it... My thoughts were – elsewhere."

"Obviously! Well, would you enlighten us and tell us what exactly you found so distracting in the dungeon classroom, which is bare of windows and hasn't changed its decor in the last 20 years, that you found your mind wandering instead wondering?"

"Ehm... I'd rather not, Sir."

There was a short and awkward silence, in which he kept his stern gaze fixed on her, as if debating internally how to react to her remark. Students seemed to be holding their breaths, too. It had been a long time since her Potions Professor had last lost his temper in class. His dangerously low voice usually was a good indicator that he might do so any moment now. "Not paying attention and being rude and impolite towards your instructor, Miss Granger?"

"I'm really sorry, Professor Snape," she murmured, averting her gaze again, still red with embarrassment. "I don't mean to be rude. I apologise."

"If my lectures are boring you," he hissed, disregarding her apology in true Snape fashion, "maybe you should consider switching Potions for a subject that encourages the idle wandering of the mind and the inner eye... such as Divination."

Hermione blushed more deeply – partly in acute embarrassment, partly in anger. Doubtlessly, he was aware what she thought about Divination. By suggesting that she leave his class – which he hopefully didn't mean! – he was threatening to cut her life line, though he probably wasn't aware of that. For various reasons, Potions was the only thing that kept her sane at the moment.

"I really prefer _your_ class, Sir," she said calmly. "I'll pay attention now."

"See that you do, Miss Granger – or I might find methods to help you concentrate."

Professor Snape was his usual snarky self with her – he truly behaved as if the evening in his office, which had changed their relationship on a fundamental level, had never happened. Sometimes she wondered if it really had – or if she'd been hallucinating the entire incident. Her mind wasn't entirely trustworthy at the moment. But then, he was a very good actor.

If he did not treat her differently as before, it might be due to his discipline and sheer, stubborn determination. Something in her own behaviour, however, had changed considerably: Unlike before, she didn't take his insults to heart anymore. As far as his expectations of her achievement in his class were concerned, she would probably always come up short. She liked Potions and her brewing was always accurate. But she lacked true talent and inspiration for the subject. She preferred sticking to the recipe and didn't ever try to improve it as he had done when still a student. Experimenting, in her eyes, implied questioning the books, and thus people who clearly had more expertise than she did. And why should she question him, doubtlessly an eminent authority in the field of Potions?

While she knew she would never truly impress him, she also knew that she couldn't completely fail in his class either, because she was meticulous and able to follow instructions. No, failing or disappointing Severus Snape was no longer one of her worries, the almost desperate need to prove herself to him no longer drove her. She felt safe in the knowledge that she had his respect, even his trust, and, quite possibly, his affection.

She felt a surge of warmth well up insider her when she dared raise her gaze back to her professor, now that she was no longer in the focus of his attention. He had always been formidable as a teacher. Competent in his subject, thorough in his instructions, fastidious in teaching them the right method of ingredient preparation and brewing. And he had no problem upholding discipline. That hadn't changed since the war. But his lessons were noticeably less tense now, and students could count on being treated equally and justly. He was still strict and demanding, and his comments were as sarcastic as ever. But now that he dished out his insults more evenly, other students than Slytherins had a chance to appreciate the wit in them, even if his humour was rather biting.

The intimidating glowers he shot at his students – still his most effective weapon – no longer affected her. While other students cringed at his criticism and sheepishly looked into their cauldrons to escape the intensity of his gaze, she usually had a hard time tearing her eyes from him.

He did cut an impressive figure, especially now that he was less stressed and his overall health had much improved. Severus Snape was a force to be reckoned with, and strangely, she found it exhilarating and reassuring at the same time. He was like a rock in a world that had shifted its axis.

Just like Hogwarts, he was a constant, a reliable and indelible part of her life, and he had come to mean even more to her after the confessions they had made to each other, the secrets they had revealed and the intimacies they had shared. And by that, she wasn't even thinking about the kiss. In fact, she was trying very hard _not_ to think about the kiss at all. Potion class would become unbearable if she did. No, she had locked those memories firmly away in some dark corner of her mind – like the Christmas tree baubles in a chest in the basement... beautiful, valuable and fragile, something to behold and to cherish that you only took out for very special occasions to sigh at, in wonderment and in pleasure...

A hard elbow in her ribcage tore her out of her silent revery. "Hermione!" Harry softly admonished her in a strange reversal of roles. "Come on – we're supposed to get the ingredients and start brewing. What's the matter with you today?"

"Sorry," she whispered back. "I guess I drifted off again."

"Are you trying to get a detention? Seriously!"

' _If only!'_ Hermione thought wistfully as she made her way to the storeroom. She'd love to get a detention with Professor Snape, but it was highly unlikely to happen. They had agreed to keep their distance, after all, and a forced intimacy like an evening in detention, as enticing as that sounded, certainly went against that decision. _His_ decision, to be precise. One she understood. But one that wasn't easy to accept, nonetheless.

Sometimes, when they were having dinner in the Great Hall, she thought that she felt his gaze on her. Had he really been watching her? She pondered the thought while she searched the cabinet shelves for the required potion ingredients. Every time she had looked up to check, he was just staring at his plate, or scanning the crowd with a bored expression on his face. But that didn't have to mean a thing – he was too much a spy to be caught spying. Was it possible that he was missing her as well? Or had he convinced himself that it had been nothing but a strange interlude, a spur of the moment thing that she regretted by now?

Feeling a bit unsettled by this thought, she made it back to her table and started brewing. She had never tried this potion before, but she knew the theory. It seemed easy enough. The only difficulty came shortly before the potion was finished, when she had to make sure that it remained hot enough without boiling while giving it the exact number of stirs. Until then, she was safe to ponder these important personal questions even while working: Did he think she had regrets? Or worse, what if he had them?

She had felt sure, almost euphoric because suddenly, everything had seemed so clear, but now, she felt a bit of the elation that had held her high since that evening fade away. What if she _had_ over-interpreted his reaction? Well, his physical reaction had been clear enough, but that was hardly surprising. He was human, after all, a man of flesh and blood. She had never doubted that. But what if it had been just that? A reaction to the flattering adoration of a young girl who had just confessed her crush on him?

She dropped the porcupine quills into the potion and counted her stirs. _'Stop it, Hermione!'_ she then told herself firmly. _'This isn't you! Since when have you become so insecure? You're a mature, competent witch!'_ But that was the point, wasn't it? The root of her insecurities. What did she have to offer a man like him? If even Ron found her lacking...

Forcing herself to focus on her potion again, she shook off her sudden distress and reached for the next ingredient. Before she could drop it into the cauldron, however, her wrist was caught by a strong hand and torn away from it.

"Miss Granger!" her professor thundered, his face furious. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?"

Confused by his intervention and his touch she glanced into his dark eyes. "I was dropping in the beetle eyes," she answered, perturbed.

"Really? Then let's have a look, shall we?" He turned her wrist around and beckoned her to open her closed fist.

"Fire seeds," she gasped, horrified at her mistake. How had he noticed from a distance, if she herself had not? The two ingredients looked deceptively alike. But adding fire seeds to this particular potion had a high chance of exploding her cauldron, as it did react negatively with the porcupine quills already in it. Which was why beetle eyes and fire seeds were stored in different shelves and in differently shaped and differently coloured, clearly labelled containers.

"How could you have noticed...?"

"Because _I_ was paying attention, Miss Granger, as _you_ were clearly not!" he fumed. "Bottle your base and clean up your work table. You are done for today. And see me after class."

Thoroughly chastised for the grave mistake he had just saved her from committing and cursing her own inattention, she hastened to obey.

*'*'*'*'*'*

He was still fuming when the last students had left his classroom and Hermione was approaching his desk, her head held low. She was obviously embarrassed – which she well deserved to be.

"I'm really aghast at your performance, Miss Granger!" he shot at her. "I suppose I don't have to lecture _you_ on the importance of concentration when brewing dangerous and highly volatile potions! Such carelessness is highly unusual for you! Are you deliberately trying to get a detention?"

"What? No!" Her eyes flew up and she finally met his gaze. "I wouldn't do that!"

From the former head girl, stickler for rules and model student he would never have believed it. But the girl in front of him was not the same bushy-haired Know-it-All anymore. With her slightly too nonchalant attitude she had lately demonstrated in his class, he had been waiting for an accident to happen, which was just another reason why he had been watching her closely.

"You had better not, because if you were, I would tell you to save yourself the effort," he warned, not fully convinced despite her assertion. He knew that she didn't whole-heartedly agree with his decision to keep their relationship strictly professional and limit their interactions to an absolute minimum. "I'd make sure you'd be serving your detentions with Filch."

"Honestly, it wasn't my intention," she assured him. "It would have been utterly stupid to purposely drop an explosive ingredient into my cauldron in the hope that you'd notice and step in just in time to prevent me from hurting myself! I still wonder how you noticed at all!"

"I've made it a habit to double-check certain students whenever beetle eyes are required in a potion, Miss Granger. You are regrettably not the first who failed to read the label, but even Mister Longbottom only made that mistake twice." The singed eyebrows he had sported after the second time had taken a couple of days to regrow and had served as a powerful reminder – far better than the lecture Severus had given him after the first prevented mishap. "I hadn't really expected such a beginner's mistake from a seventh year, and surely not from you." Had he not been watching her more intently than probably justified, he wouldn't have noticed. He could feel a slight tremor going through him, thinking what could have happened. Singed eyebrows were one thing, but a jet of flame could easily have set her voluminous hair on fire and done considerable damage before he'd even stood a chance to stifle the flames.

"I have no idea how it happened," she said in rueful voice. "Thank you – for not letting me learn the hard way."

Her obvious distress at her blunder soothed him a little. "This thoughtlessness is not you, Miss Granger," he said more calmly. "Do you find my classes not challenging enough? Or is there perhaps another reason for you to let your mind wander at most inappropriate moments?"

Hermione lowered her head again so as not to let him see her warming cheeks. It wasn't just inappropriate moments, but also inappropriate thoughts, but she certainly wouldn't admit to that. "No, there isn't," she lied. "I was just feeling a bit off today."

"It's not just today," he pointed out. "You're hardly raising your hand anymore. Your essays, which were always written in minuscule handwriting to squeeze in even more than the extra inches of parchment you – much to my chagrin – insisted on adding, are now just long enough to fulfil my requirements. And even the potions you produce don't come up to your usual standard. Do these changes perhaps have anything to do with – our epiphany a few weeks ago?"

For a moment, she felt flooded with relief. It hadn't been a hallucination. And if he labelled it an epiphany, it surely held significance for him. The term was fitting – it had been an epiphany. True, on the surface, one might say that it had merely been a long talk and a kiss. In reality, it had been one of these moments in time, a standing at a crossroads, that had changed everything. At least, it had changed everything for her. But not the things he was referring to. Those issues had been there long before.

"No, Sir," she said, making sure to use his proper address to condition her mind. "I assure you that it has nothing to do with you, nor with your teaching. I'm just feeling a little... I don't know. I think I have yet to rediscover my drive. The war has changed my perspective about a few things. Some things that were important to me before seem a bit pointless now."

He understood exactly what she was talking about. She was not the only one struggling to find meaning in her life again after a defining factor had been taken out of it.

"There is nothing pointless about learning. I never thought I'd have to tell you that."

"I know, Sir. I promise I'll try to do better."

"See that you do, Miss Granger. I mean it." He let his stern gaze linger on her a moment longer to make sure she got the point. Then he beckoned to the door. "You may leave now." When she rose, he softly added in afterthought: "Don't expect me to treat you differently. I won't be lenient next time."

"I know, Sir. I wouldn't expect you to."

*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*

Hermione really tried. He was right: Letting her attention wander was disrespectful and unadvisable in his class for various reasons, but she just couldn't help it.

She had been in a state of constant vigilance for an entire year, expecting danger around every corner, and it still haunted her. She jumped at unexpected sounds, and it was even worse now that she wasn't carrying her wand ready at hand anymore. She still was afraid of the dark, afraid of being alone, afraid that something might attack her any moment. This constant wariness was exhausting. She could never fully relax – except in Potions.

Severus Snape was a powerful wizard, quick and ruthless, if need be, and she knew that nothing bad would happen to her under his watchful eyes, nothing would harm her in his classroom. His lectures were certainly worth listening to, but they didn't offer enough new information to keep her mind from drifting. Hermione already knew most of it, as she had tried to keep up with their subject matter as much as she could, even while searching for Horcruxes. Truth to tell, most lessons were boring. But she had promised him.

Calling herself to attention for the third time within the first half hour of her Wednesday's Potion class, she tried to concentrate on his voice, which wasn't exactly helpful.

That rich baritone of his, the deep, silky drawl and his distinctive way of accentuating his words... Somehow, his voice reached right inside her head, making her feel very peculiar – as if her brain was being softly caressed on the inside. It made her slightly dizzy, but in a good way. He could read a telephone registry to her and she would close her eyes in bliss and let his voice soothe the raw edges of her nerves like balm. Was it her fault if she found herself unable to follow what he was saying, when it felt so incredibly good to have the carefully modulated cadence of his velvety voice wash over?

Especially now, when she was so very tired. She had hardly slept again last night, and already knew that she wouldn't be getting much more sleep in the night to come. It had become impossible to continue sharing a room with Ginny, who was equally haunted by nightmares. But Hermione found it almost harder to sleep alone in the room Headmistress McGonagall had given her after both girls had kept tearing each other from sleep. Hermione hadn't slept alone since she had been a small child, and she found the silence of her room nerve-wracking. In the silence, everything seemed louder, even the sound of her own breathing. After a while, she had even started imagining sounds that weren't even there. While Ginny had often torn her from sleep, being alone prevented her from falling asleep in the first place.

Right now, however, falling asleep would be quite easy... Supporting her heavy head on her hands, Hermione pretended to study her textbook and closed her eyes briefly, almost sighing in relief when the burning behind her lids immediately lessened. ' _Just for a minute_ ,' she thought, listening to the quiet background noises in the relative quiet of the classroom. It was almost like being in the library, which was still her favourite place. But here, it was even better, because he was there, allowing her to feel safe. The soothing sound of his voice as he lectured. Shuffling of paper. Feather scratching softly on parchment. Pages being turned. Someone whispering something unintelligibly to his bench neighbour. If she listened closely, she could even hear people breathing. Such peaceful noises, lulling her in a pleasant daze...

"Miss Granger!"

Her heart jumped into her throat at hearing a loud bark that cut the air like a whip. Her head jerked up from the table. She was suddenly wide awake, grasping her wand and her purse. Where was her purse? Blindly, panicky, she looked around, trying to get her bearings. What had happened?

Potions classroom. She was still in her classroom. And she had fallen asleep. Her racing heart calmed only slightly at this realisation. She was safe. But then – maybe not. A fleeting look into her professor's dark and stormy eyes made all her thoughts of safety fly away. He was furious. Of course he was. First her daydreaming and not paying attention, then the near-accident. And now she had fallen asleep during his lecture! He probably wouldn't ever forgive her that. Oh Merlin!

"Gather your things and leave!" he ordered in a low, hissing voice.

"Professor, please... I..."

"Miss Granger, I'm sure you're aware that I won't stand for that kind of insolence in my classroom. You will see me for detention the next three Wednesdays, starting today. Whatever your justification is, you can present it to me tonight in my office, at seven, sharp. At the moment, I don't want to hear your apologies – I want you out of my classroom now!"

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, Sir." Feeling humiliated and ashamed beyond measure, she quickly gathered her things and fled from his sight.


	3. The Ballroom Incident

Summary of Chapter Two – The Soothing Quality of Potions

 _Hermione is inattentive in Potion class and nearly injures herself. Severus talks to her after class and admonishes her to be more careful. Though Hermione is making an effort, she falls asleep in his next lesson, which makes Severus so angry that he assigns her three detentions and throws her out._

* * *

 **The Ballroom Incident**

About half an hour after Hermione had left the classroom, Severus' anger slowly dissipated and turned into a nagging feeling of concern. Of course she hadn't fallen asleep in his class on purpose. He could only imagine how exhausted she must have been to drift away in the middle of his lecture. Something was not right with her, and he could no longer pretend that it didn't concern him. He wanted – needed – to know what was wrong with the girl.

He had first seen the subtle changes in her appearance the evening she had come to see him in his office. Before, he hadn't paid much attention to her, but now that he did, he couldn't help but notice that the changes went much deeper than he had thought.

She seemed more frail, more delicate and had lost every trace of childishness. Her body was that of a young woman, but she was far too thin, and her eyes belonged to a much older soul. Even her unruly hair had lost some of its wildness and lustre. Severus had always thought with an internal smirk that her own hair seemed to defy her, as if it was resisting her obsessive need to keep everything neat and in order. No matter what hairstyle she came up with to tame it, in no time, strands came loose to fly in all directions, rebelling against her efforts to put it under control.

Now, this vibrance was gone, even her hair seemed subdued and lacklustre. The softer look suited her, but it added to the overall impression of delicacy and fragility. He wondered if such a drastic change in the make-up of a person's hair could be ascribed to hormonal changes, to stress or malnutrition, or if the change could possibly be caused by a change in her magic. The latter gave added reason for concern.

While his first reaction to her repeated disruption of classroom discipline had been to make true on his threat and send her to Filch, he now realised that sending her away wasn't a solution for any of their issues. He couldn't avoid her forever.

So when Hermione knocked on his office door punctually that evening, he was determined to get to the heart of the matter and see that she got help.

"Professor Snape..."

"Miss Granger."

"Please – will you allow me to apologise now?" she began right on entering. "I'm really, really sorry, I... "

"Apologies are superfluous," he interrupted right away, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk and wordlessly beckoning her to sit down. "I realise that you didn't fall asleep in the middle of my class just to upset me."

Hermione closed her mouth and gave him a surprised look. Apparently, he was no longer angry with her. He almost sounded – understanding?

"However, I cannot leave it at that," he added, after she had taken a seat and looked at him with relief. "I talked to your other teachers, and while they also noticed that you are less eager to participate, which, under different circumstances, I might find commendable, you don't seem to have any problems staying focused in their classes. Are my lectures boring you?"

She blushed. "Of course not! You are a good teacher..."

"That wasn't my question," he said calmly. "I am not doubting my teaching abilities or the quality of my lessons, Miss Granger. But knowing you, it wouldn't surprise me if at least the theory of the potions we're discussing was not entirely new to you. I expect an honest answer."

"Well, yes," she admitted. "I tried to keep up with the syllabus as much as possible while we were away from Hogwarts." She might even have put a little bit of extra effort into Potions in particular.

It had been her way of expressing her continued respect for him, even as so many had shunned him, believing him a traitor - as if her unspoken loyalty could make his isolation somehow less real.

"I see. So it is as I thought. Potions class is boring you."

"But that's not really the reason that I fell asleep," she protested, afraid he might make good on his threat and ban her from his class. That couldn't happen.

"Then what is?"

"It's just that... your classroom nowadays is the only place I really feel safe."

He arched his eyebrows at her in what she had come to interpret as surprise or even bewilderment.

"It's stupid, I know that, intellectually," she rushed to explain. "You told me that I need to relax, and you're right about that, too, but I don't know how to do it. I still feel like I can never entirely let my guard down. I don't like being in crowds, but I don't like being all by myself either. I always feel tense, except when I'm in Potions."

He frowned and kept looking at her with a blank expression. "And why is that?"

Hermione lowered her gaze and her voice. "Because of you," she said softly. "Nobody can easily get past you. You have always kept an eye on us, watched our backs, kept us safe all these years. You risked your life for us, and you would have sacrificed your life for Harry, probably for each and every one of your students. And you still make me feel safe, like nothing can harm us when you're there. Of course, all our other teachers would protect us, too, but... I can't explain, really. I only know that I feel safe in the dungeons, in your classroom. So whenever I'm there, some of my tension drains away, and I can relax a bit, and then my mind starts drifting. I try to listen, really, I do – but your voice isn't helping things... and last night, I didn't sleep well and I was tired..."

Severus felt like he'd been hit on the head. She always managed to do that – completely throw him with something unexpected she said. Like that she basically trusted him with her life and that she felt safe in his presence. He was used to evoking the opposite feelings and found that easier to understand. Her declaration stirred something deep within him, a craving, an almost painful yearning... something dark and dangerous, but exhilarating and intoxicating at the same time. His own feelings were confusing and unsettling, but analysing them would have to wait for later.

For now, he focused on the other stunning part of her revelation: the fact that the apparent ease he had seen her display in his class was not her normal state of mind, but the exception. It wasn't an explanation he had even considered after the incident with his Slytherin.

Again, he felt a strange tugging inside of him. To think that she found his presence soothing, that it put her at ease when she was generally as tense and nervous as she obviously was... It was flattering, heart-warming and evoked unfamiliar feelings that he couldn't immediately identify. That, in itself, was a reason for concern.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes in mild frustration. "I guess we can add this to the growing list of complications," he said, more to himself than to her. Would there ever be a time when his life wouldn't seem such a mess? "I don't know what to do about this, Miss Granger," he finally admitted. "But I can't have you falling asleep in my classroom. I suggest you take a sleeping potion for now and see that you get some rest." It was hardly a long-term solution, as sleeping potions were addictive in the long run. But it would buy them time. Buy him time to sort things out and hopefully come up with an idea about how to help her.

"Uhm..."

"What?"

"Well, the thing is... Madam Pomfrey has forbidden me from taking any more Dreamless Sleep Potion..."

"You've made use of it before?"

"Pretty much every night during the first months of the school year. Ginny and I kept waking each other up with our nightmares."

"So you're having troubles with nightmares, too..." Of course she did. Again, it was hardly surprising.

"Who doesn't?" she asked. "I'm certainly not the only one."

He sighed again. "Miss Granger... this can't continue. I'm really at a loss here. I think you need counselling."

She snorted. "Yes, I guess I do. But what do you suggest? Go to a muggle psychiatrist, as wizards don't have any? Tell him that ever since I hunted and destroyed dark objects containing soul fragments of an evil wizard, I'm scared of being attacked by a giant snake or mask-wearing Death Eaters? That I have reoccurring nightmares in which I hear the cackling laughter of a mad woman who's engraving the letters 'Mudblood' into my arm with a cursed knife? Or that I'm almost fainting dead on the spot, hearing a werewolf whisper into my ear what he will do with me once she is finished? Tell him that I'm sleeping with a wand in my hand in case there are Snatchers sneaking around? I'm sure he'd have a field day! I might never leave the closed ward again."

His stomach felt like lead hearing her describe the monsters under her bed that were keeping her up at night. Monsters that were all too real. Monsters she should never have encountered. But she had, and he wished he could kill them all with his bare hands once again... Voldemort, Greyback and mostly Bellatrix. He wished he knew how to make her world feel like a safe place again.

"I was suggesting you talk to a wizard or witch. The Headmistress has not set up counselling hours for nothing."

"And who should I go to? Professor Trelawney, who's officially the Head of my house?"

"I was thinking of Professor Lupin, who's unofficially Head of your house and an Order member. You always got on well with him. As much as it pains me to say it, he is patient, understanding and trustworthy."

"Remus has enough problems of his own. He's still trying to deal with the death of Tonks and the loss of two of his limbs. He only agreed to second as Head of House because Professor Trelawney's nomination shocked most Gryffindors into demanding a re-sorting. To tell the truth, I don't even think he's fit enough to teach Defence right now."

True enough. Lupin wasn't Moody. He had yet to get used to walking with a prosthesis. Not to mention the lack of one arm. But doubtlessly, the loss of his wife had crippled him even more than the giants he had run into.

"I can't talk to anyone about what happened during the last year," Hermione whispered. "Nobody knows. Nobody understands. Nobody but you."

"What about your friends?" he asked, feeling just as much out of his depth at he had in the hospital wing on seeing her so distraught, not knowing how to help. He had never offered comfort to anybody in his entire life. And yet she seemed to have expectations in him that he was sure to disappoint. Where were her friends when she needed them?

Hermione shrugged. "Every one of us is burdened with their own problems. Ron is extremely volatile and easily upset about little things. But it's no use talking to him about it, because he's pretending that everything is alright, and I'm waiting for the moment he'll suddenly realise it's not and have a complete mental breakdown. Ginny is having nightmares about the last school year and breaks into tears every time someone mentions her brother. Laughing too loud, telling jokes or mentioning wizard pranks has the same effect."

She gave him a sad look, and it wasn't hard to figure out that she was suffering vicariously with her friends. "The only sane one seems to be Harry. That's probably because for him, the last year has not been that much worse than all his previous years. I suppose you get used to being in mortal peril after a while, and he's faced Voldemort in one form or another pretty much every school year since he started Hogwarts."

Severus cast his mind back to the last seven years and realised that what she said was true. Except from his third and sixth year, Harry had indeed faced his nemesis every year. In his third year, it had only been Dementors and a alleged mass-murder, in his sixth year only the Dark Lord's henchmen, himself included. No, Harry had definitely not had an easy and safe school life.

"Maybe he's just too busy sorting out his other issue," Hermione added to her thoughts. "If we want to call it an issue at all. But realising that he doesn't love Ginny – at least not in the way he thought he did – was a bit of a shock to him. Things are awkward between him and Ron because of it, and, of course between him and Ginny, too. I'm glad that he doesn't have to deal with war trauma on top of it, so I'm not going to start bringing it back. You are the only person I can talk to." Hermione knew that he would find that hard to believe. But the truth was that Harry and Ron didn't even know the full extent of the things that were bothering her. And she wouldn't tell them.

"I'm hardly the person to offer counselling or advice, considering the choices I've made", Severus said, sounding more brusque than he meant to be. Which just proved his point. He really _was_ bad at this.

"I don't need advice," Hermione replied softly. "Just someone to talk to." She hesitated a brief moment and raised an uncertain gaze. "I understand that there can be nothing between us right now... But can't you just be – my friend?"

"Your friend?" he echoed, not sure if her notion should amaze him, please him, annoy him or bemuse him. "Like Potter or Weasley? Someone you can boss around, call in line, tease or give hugs to?"

"I wouldn't mind giving hugs to you," the impossible girl said. "But I understand if that has to wait. You can be just be my non-huggable friend then – one I don't have to remind to do his homework or change his socks after three days. It'd be a nice change... "

"I don't know how to be a friend," he told her honestly, testing the word on his tongue like an exotic fruit he'd never tasted before. He hadn't, really, not since his youth. And look how that had ended. "If such a friendship was theoretically possible – which I doubt – the rest of the world wouldn't perceive it as such. People would always assume that something more was going on." Which, in his opinion, proved that this theory was right. Why would people automatically assume such a thing, otherwise?

"This is all so unfair," Hermione lamented. "Yet another thing Voldemort has taken from me."

"What?" he asked, not quite following her apparently random train of thought.

"You. The chance to really get to know you, to see you whenever I want. I'm of age! I'm an adult in the Muggle and the wizarding world alike! I shouldn't even be here, technically your student again! Without him, I would have graduated last year, like all your Slytherins, and we'd be free to do whatever we wished, no matter what people said. It's just another thing he's to blame for. I hate him!"

Severus was startled at her outburst. He had never looked at it that way. But she was right. If it hadn't been for the Dark Lord, she would have left Hogwarts half a year ago. But then, if he hadn't existed, they would never have found themselves in the situation they were in now. This complicated, perturbing, confusing mess. No. Severus still hated the Dark Lord for many things, but for this, he could not.

"You and I know that things are not always fair and certainly not always how we want them. It can't be helped. We'll have to deal with the cards we were dealt, even though it's difficult, as this situation doubtlessly is. How am I, of all people, supposed to help you? I'm certainly more damaged than you are!"

"Then how come you still are so strong?" Hermione asked back. "How do you sleep at night? You must be tortured by memories, too..."

By all rights, he should be. Sometimes he thought he deserved to be. But... "No. I haven't suffered from nightmares since I left my teenage years behind me." He'd probably have turned mad if all he had experienced had come back to haunt him in his sleep.

"You don't have bad dreams at all?" she asked, surprised. "How's that possible?"

It was hard to put into words. "My guess is that my subconscious recognises a nightmare right when it starts and either wakes me up or tricks it into becoming something harmless."

"Really?" She was intrigued. "How do you do that?"

He shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I think it has to do with my ability to Occlude. At least, I started having control over my dreams when I mastered Occlumency. I don't know how I'd have stayed sane otherwise."

"But I thought Occlumency was a skill permitting you to keep others from reading your mind..."

Severus scowled. "I've told Potter again and again that this explanation is rudimentary and simplistic at best. Occlumency is a highly complex art, the mastering of mental and emotional control. It's a means to deeply know, understand and organise the workings of your mind."

Her eyes lit up with barely concealed interest. His own eyes went to the ceiling in exasperation. Of course. He had just uttered the magical words 'organise', 'control' and 'mind' in front of Hermione Granger. It was the equivalent of waving a juicy bone in front of a starving dog. Correction. An eager puppy, looking at him now with impossibly large, brown eyes and a hopeful expression. At least she wasn't drooling.

"Can you teach me?" she begged.

He sighed. He probably could. There was no doubt that teaching her would prove much more successful than teaching Potter had been. For one thing, there was no hatred and distrust between them, which basically made every mind to mind contact a doomed endeavour right from the start. She also was willing and studious, and organising and compartmentalising her mind should come easily to her – after all, she did it in every other aspect of her life. Her colour-coded study schedules were legendary, even among staff. No, wasting time was not what he was concerned about.

"I could," he answered reluctantly. "However, I'm not sure if I should."

"Why ever not?"

"Because delving into your mind is quite the opposite of keeping my distance, Miss Granger."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"But surely you could... lend me a book?" she asked timidly.

"As surprising as this might come for you, some things cannot be learned from a book."

Her gaze was doubtful. Clearly, she didn't believe that.

"Not everything comes with easy and simple to follow instructions like potions recipes," he affirmed. "There is no incantation for Occlumency, no explanation of how to do it."

"How did you learn, then?"

"By having my mind attacked again and again, until one day, I managed to block it."

"Please – I need to do something." She was giving him the puppy eyes again. "If this could help with my nightmares, I'd finally get some sleep at night and feel less on edge during the daytime. I might even start feeling normal again."

He knew that what he was considering was morally highly questionable, probably unethical, but he pushed that thought aside. He couldn't let her continue suffering just to avoid tempting his self-control. If Occlumency was indeed the thing that could help her, it was for the greater good. And as he had learned from Dumbledore over the years, the 'greater good' was all that mattered. His intentions were honourable. He needed to put this young Gryffindor back together.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he said, forcefully reminding himself that no matter his motives for wanting to help her, she was still his student, and he had to treat her as such. "I will see you for detention next Wednesday after dinner, anyway. That'll give you ample time to read through all the books on the matter you are not yet able to recite. Provided there are any..."

She grinned, but he could still see the relief in her features. "Thank you, Sir."

*'*'*'*'*'*

If the fact that she had fallen asleep in the middle of his class had not sufficiently convinced him that she needed help, an incident in the 'Defence against the Dark Arts' class he took over for Lupin a week after their discussion definitely did.

Minerva had arranged for Aurors in training to take over the werewolf's classes once a month, when he was incapacitated due to his condition. But this time, his indisposition was not related to the moon phase. Lupin had suffered worse damage during the final battle than most of the staff and the students were aware of – the loss of his one leg and arm was just a minor problem compared to the rest. He had almost been crushed by a giant, and his liver was irrevocably damaged. The potions he was taking only served to stabilise the organ and to prolong his life. If he was lucky, he had another five years, but even that was not guaranteed. In any case, he wouldn't be able to teach full-time for much longer.

Minerva was thinking about offering an apprentice position for Defence, which would also take some of the load off Lupin. Until she had found somebody suitable, they somehow had to make do, which meant that he had to take over the seventh year class today.

Being an advocate of a practical rather than theoretical approach, he surprised the waiting seventh graders with the announcement that they were going to have a duelling session and that they were to pack their things and follow him into the ballroom. The classroom gave them little room for the kind of exercise he had in mind.

Most of the students were thrilled at the idea, but there were a few faces that showed concern, among them that of a special Gryffindor. He was fully aware of the fact that duelling was a touchy subject for students who had, a couple of months ago, fought for their lives. But in the long run, it wouldn't do to pamper them like Lupin did, who – as Severus suspected – had a bit of a problem with duelling himself. A wizard needed to be capable of defending himself, and a suffered trauma wouldn't go away if they simply did not raise their wands against a person ever again. In his opinion, you had to face your fears to overcome them. He just had to make sure to take it slowly.

On their way to the ballroom he pondered the daring idea of taking a leaf out of Lupin's book and actually letting them try something humorous first... see who came up with the most ridiculous and funniest hexes, like the legendary Bat-Bogey hex Miss Weasley so frequently used. Or maybe he could demonstrate an offensive transfiguration hex and turn Longbottom's hair into a vulture hat...

Severus never got to the intended highlight of his lesson, however. Not in the beginning, because his lesson was again disrupted by a certain Gryffindor before it had even started, and not later, because he wasn't in the mood for doing anything remotely funny anymore.

Hermione's face, which had lit up on seeing who was replacing Remus, fell as soon as she learned what her favourite professor had planned for today's lesson. She had never liked duelling much, and she had never been particularly good at it. But ever since the war, she didn't like using her wand for anything combative at all. Having a wand pointed at herself was frightening enough, but after the incident with Malcolm she was also worried that she might involuntarily inflict serious damage on her opponent. Comforting herself with the thought that Professor Snape surely knew what he was doing and would ensure that no one came to harm, she reluctantly followed her fellow students to the ballroom.

The last time she had seen it had been in fourth year, when Professor McGonagall had used it for dancing practice. She'd rather be using the room for dancing lessons again right now. She wouldn't even mind being singled out to demonstrate the steps with her teacher, as Ron had been with Professor McGonagall. She felt herself smiling at the memory of the shocked face he had made. At the time, she had revelled in it with a certain amount of glee, which was probably excusable if one considered what a git he'd been to her that year.

Hermione was the last to enter the large room. It was a shame that it was used so rarely. It had huge windows on either side, which gave it an airy feel that you couldn't find anywhere else inside the castle. Beautiful crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, catching the rays of the afternoon sun that fell through the glass panes.

Despite the friendly atmosphere, she felt her anxiety building the moment she set her foot in the room. It started with a feeling of icy cold in her stomach that quickly seeped into the rest of her body, and rapidly led to sweaty palms and trembling limbs. As soon as she realised that she was about to have another panic attack, all the symptoms increased by a hundredfold: Her heart started beating like crazy and her chest tightened painfully, restricting her breathing. Her legs were too numb to obey her brain's frantic command to just run and take her out of here, so she just stood there, stiff as a board, unable to do anything but clutch her wand and her purse tightly, while feeling her vision narrow.

Draco, who happened to be right next to her in the back of the room, was the first to notice, and immediately drew the right conclusion. Before anyone else could react, he took her arm and dragged her out of the room.

"Potter, Longbottom – see to the class!" Hermione heard her Professor's crisp command, before he came rushing after Draco and her.

Draco ushered her onto a bench beneath a window, giving her a look that was almost as panicky as hers.

"Bag," Hermione wheezed, clutching her purse to her hurting chest and struggling to breathe. "Calming Draught – in my bag."

Draco tried to take the purse from her, but her fingers remained clamped around its strings. "You have to let go," he said, but she didn't react. He couldn't be sure if she hadn't heard him, or if she was just unable to respond. Her panicky eyes were staring helplessly up into the faces of the two men leaning over her, her breath was coming in rapid, shallow gasps and her entire body was shaking.

"Miss Granger!" the Potions Professor then commanded, using his most imperative tone of voice. "Give me that bag now!" Lifelong habit and her disposition to respond to authority finally drew a reaction from her. She let go of the purse, and he opened it in search for the bottle of Calming Draught that was supposed to be in there. What he found was not a bottle, but an entire potion kit – among other things.

He finally found the right vial, pulled the stopper and assisted her in downing the contents. The Calming Draught did the trick. Hermione slowly felt her chest pain and the constrictions subside, her breath even out and her unreasonable fear melt away. She glanced at the empty vial in her hand and felt silly. Once again, he had to witness her completely losing it for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she said, when her voice returned.

"I do," Draco surprisingly said, throwing an unsure glance at his godfather, who beckoned him to continue. "It was the chandelier... it looks very much like the crystal chandelier in our drawing room."

The room where she had been tortured by Bellatrix, lying helplessly on the floor and staring up at it. The chandelier that had come crashing down on them a little bit later on. Her breath quickened again.

"Easy, there, Miss Granger," her Professor soothed, and his voice immediately grounded her again. "Just continue breathing deeply and slowly. You're safe now. I don't want you to think about it. Tell me about that bag of yours."

"My purse?" she asked, distracted by his question, just as he had intended. "What about it?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm? I suppose not Ministry approved? That's highly advanced magic..."

"It was a necessity," she simply said.

"I see." He looked at her with an inscrutable gaze, then turned to his oldest Slytherin. "Draco, accompany Miss Granger to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey what happened. She should run a full diagnostic, so we can be sure that there is no physical cause for her symptoms. You'll return immediately after Poppy has taken charge, understood? And Miss Granger – unless Madam Pomfrey decides to keep you right there, this episode is no excuse to miss out your detention tonight – at seven, sharp."

*'*'*'*'*'*

As expected, Madam Pomfrey didn't find anything wrong with her, so Hermione was free to go and reassure her friends, who had already inquired about her. They were relieved to hear that everything was alright again, and – in silent agreement – quickly turned the conversation to less perturbing matters.

Draco, however, acted strangely around her when she saw him at dinner. The returned seventh years had their own table at the end of the Slytherins' table row. It had been a practical solution to make room for the added pupils. While it might have been possible to squeeze in the additional Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at their respective house tables, it would have been next to impossible to do so with the Gryffindors.

Most of the pupils who had formed the resistance group led by Neville had come from Gryffindor, and given that they had spent a large part of the year in hiding, they had missed most of the curriculum. Ravenclaws, who were smart enough to keep a low profile, the majority of Hufflepuffs, who tended to keep themselves out of trouble, and nearly all Slytherins, who had fared reasonably well with Death Eaters in charge, had been able to finish their education. The latter house also had never counted muggleborn students, who hadn't been allowed to attend Hogwarts last year. Therefore, there were no returnees from Slytherin, except for one: Draco Malfoy.

Hermione knew he had come back for a reason similar to her own: He had no home to go to anymore. His parents had gone into exile, and Draco was on his own, struggling to find his way in a world that had been turned upside down. He had as little idea what to do with his life as she had. Hogwarts, at least, was familiar and offered stability.

Their former enmity had morphed into a tentative companionship that might even leave room for development of something more. However, this evening, he was acting weird. He wasn't able to look her in the eye, and if Hermione wasn't mistaken, he was ashamed. She had a good idea what had brought this about, but she had no wish to discuss it. It would only bring her own memories back, and she wasn't ready to face them yet. On the other hand, she didn't want to bear responsibility for him feeling bad, either.

"Just so you know..." she finally told him firmly, just before she got up from her chair, and unconsciously pulled her sleeve down. "It wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you for what happened. So you shouldn't keep blaming yourself, either."

Relieved to have a good excuse for leaving the table early, she claimed to have to get ready for her detention and hastened out of the hall.

*'*'*'*'*'*

At seven o' clock, Hermione knocked on her Potions Professor's office door and was immediately asked in.

"Since you are here, I take it that Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis spell didn't find anything that gave reason for concern?" Professor Snape inquired, beckoning her to take a seat.

"No, Sir, I'm quite healthy, physically speaking."

"And do I assume correctly then that you have experienced panic attacks like the one you had today before?"

"A few times. But they weren't as bad. And Calming Draught always helped."

He gestured at the purse she had sat beside her. "Is that the reason you're carrying it with you all the time?" he asked.

"Yes..." she admitted, a bit hesitantly. It was definitely part of the reason. Though it probably didn't explain why she carried around an entire potions kit. He had obviously noticed that, too.

"I see," he said, leaning back in his chair and giving her that penetrating look that seemed to aim at reaching her soul. "What else are you carrying around in that bag, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, uhm... my books and... writing utensils... and other useful things..." she offered, hoping he wouldn't question her further.

He didn't. With a lazy flick of his wand, he directed a revealing spell at the purple string bag that brought the content to light. Things came flying out one by one, the most recently used first. School books, parchment, quills, diverse sanitary items, a hairbrush, a coat, a knitted cap, gloves, rapidly followed by spare clothes, her Potions kit, a first aid box, sewing utensils, bed sheets, a fair amount of food tins... and it didn't stop there. Soon there was a pile in the corner of his office, growing higher and higher, while his eyes seemed to grow larger. Finally, the flow of objects stopped, and the bag gave an audible sigh, as if relieved to be cured of persistent congestion.

Severus looked at the pile in disbelief. "A tent, Miss Granger?"

"I'd completely forgotten that the tent was still in there," she replied, abashed.

"And the food? The pots and pans, the tea kettle, the camping cooker, the picnic basket and the cutlery?"

"That, too."

"Miss Granger," he sighed. "Just what is this? Were you planning on taking a camping trip anytime soon?"

"No. I wasn't planning on anything."

"Just planning for everything, right?" She didn't answer. "Am I right to assume that these things kept you alive last year while on the run?"

She nodded.

"And I guess I don't have to tell you that there is no need to organise for disaster and plan for a rapid escape anymore, do I?"

She lowered her head. "I know. It just makes me feel – safer to have those things around."

"Do you understand that carrying around so much stuff takes a toll on you? Despite the fact that you placed a weightless charm on the bag – all those things still have a physical weight, and in one form or another, you have to expend energy to move them. Carried around in a magical weightless bag, they feed on your magic. You might not realise it like you would if you had to drag everything behind you physically, but it's exhausting you all the same."

She gave him a look of surprise. "I didn't know that..."

"But surely you must have noticed that your magical energy is less stable, even weaker now? I could even detect it in the potions you produce. And in your hair."

"My hair?"

"Unless you've done something else to it that makes it so lacklustre and – tame – all of a sudden?"

"I rather like my hair as it is now," Hermione said a bit stiffly. "It's much more manageable."

"And you're sure that this perceived hair wonder is worth an over-expenditure of your magical energies?"

She shook her head.

"I don't think so, either. We have to find a way to make you feel secure without being constantly on alert for an emergency evacuation. What makes you feel safe, Miss Granger?"

That was easily answered. "You do," she said in a soft voice. "I feel safe when I'm around you."

Yes, after their latest discussion he had almost expected this answer. Dumbledore was gone, Lupin incapacitated and not able to protect anybody right now, and Flitwick, though a competent wizard, was hardly an intimidating enough manly presence to make a traumatised young woman feel safe. There was Minerva, of course, a force to be reckoned with, but – well, wizard society was rather sexist. So he probably was the next logical choice.

"Do you usually wear a necklace?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes, why?"

"Show me."

She reached into her blouse and pulled out a chain with a small portrait medallion hanging from it. "It shows a picture of my parents." She made a move as if to open it, but he stopped her. "I don't need to see it." He reached for the pendant without taking the chain off her neck, cradled it in his palm and touched it with his wand. He then muttered a series of spells she hadn't heard before, and the medallion glowed briefly. "There," he muttered, letting it go and rest against her chest again. She could still feel the warmth emanating from it through the material of her blouse.

"I made it into a password protected, unregistered Portkey. All you have to do is touch it and say 'safe place' and it will take you here."

"Into your office?"

"Yes."

She couldn't find words for a moment. With everything she knew about the man, she understood what an incredible gift he had just made her. He was granting her sanctuary behind his wards. He was offering her his trust. It was probably the most valuable thing he had to give.

Hermione knew instinctively that he wouldn't want her to highlight the fact or make a huge deal of it. Even her gratitude would probably be unwelcome. So she just gave him a heartfelt smile and didn't say anything on the matter. "I thought Portkeys don't work within Hogwarts..." she pondered the technicalities instead.

"Basically they don't. Only the headmaster has the power to make Portkeys that work around these restrictions. Funnily enough, I still have this power, probably because Hogwarts itself got confused about still having a living ex-headmaster around and is treating me as if I were still in command." He had noticed many little things that were peculiar. He could still access Minerva's office without even uttering the password. Staircases still turned into the right direction to ease his way, and he still had access to all the secret shortcuts that facilitated moving around in Hogwarts. He suspected that he was still able to change the ceiling in the Great Hall, as well, but hadn't tried it yet. No reason to call attention to these nifty gifts.

"And you wouldn't mind if I actually used this in the middle of a panic attack and just materialised in your office? Because chances are that I might..."

"If I minded, I wouldn't have given you a Portkey. My office is heavily warded. You'll be safe in here, even if I don't happen to be around. In which case you'll have time enough to conjure your Patronus and call for help. You can conjure a Patronus, right?"

"Yes. It's an otter."

"So it's corporeal? Very good, Miss Granger. You aren't helpless. Remember that. Now, do you think the Portkey will make you feel safer?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Fine then." He waved his wand at the cluttered pile of her survival equipment, levitating only the books, the writing-utensils and a few sanitary items back into her purple string bag. "I'll see to it that all the clothes are returned to your room. As to the rest of the stuff..." He sent a 'Reducio' at the remaining items, shrinking them to the size of doll house equipment. "I'll store them for you."

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, transfigured it into a box and levitated everything inside. Then he opened a drawer and hid the box away.

"Now... with that out of the way, let's move on to the purpose of this visit, shall we?"

* * *

 _Actually, the part about not having nightmares is not fantasy. I'm much like Severus in that regard (without the traumata and the Occlumency skills, though). I stopped having nightmares when I was still a kid – like he said, I either realise that I'm dreaming while still asleep and the dream loses its power, or my dream automatically transforms into something harmless. I believe the technique I subconsciously used when still a child gets instinctive after a while: On waking up, think of your dream as if you woke in the middle of a horror movie without yet having seen the happy end, which surely would have come, and let it play out in your head while falling asleep again. After a while, your brain learns how to do that without waking you in the first place._


	4. Occlumency the First

Summary of Chapter Three – The Ballroom Incident:

When Hermione shows up for detention, Severus decides to not send her to Filch as originally intended, but makes her talk to him instead. He learns that she is suffering from nightmares and hardly sleeps because of them, and that she still has war-related issues that she feels she can't discuss with anybody. He agrees to teach her Occlumency to keep her nightmares at bay.

Before they get to that, however, Severus has to take over the DADA class in Lupin's absence. He decides to have a practical lesson in one of the less frequently used rooms of the castle, where Hermione suffers a panic attack.

When she shows up for her second detention, Severus examines Hermione's magically enhanced purse and finds out that she still carries around extensive survival equipment, which further drains her magical energies. He transforms her necklace into an emergency portkey to his office to make her feel safe.

* * *

 **Occlumency the First**

"I suppose you have read every book about Occlumency you could get your hands on during the last week and thus consider yourself adequately prepared?"

Hermione shrugged. "There wasn't much to find in the library on the subject." She had re-read the couple of books she had already studied in her fifth year, when Dumbledore had made Harry take Occlumency lessons. At the time, she had been slightly envious and had felt that Harry was being ungrateful for not appreciating the opportunity he'd been given. She had immediately immersed herself in private studies, questioning him in detail about his lessons, but Harry hadn't been very forthcoming.

At least the books had proved enlightening. They had covered the theory of mental shields and explained how to best erect them. Hermione had dutifully done the suggested exercises, which seemed to be a mixture of different visualisation techniques paired with yoga. As there had been little else she could do, she really did consider herself adequately prepared.

"I tried to tell you before, Miss Granger – not all knowledge can be found in books. Some things have to be learned the hard way. And a hard way it will be, have not doubt."

A tiny trace of uncertainty crept into her gaze. Apparently, she had doubted it.

Harry's horrifying descriptions of his lessons came to her mind and made her frown. She hadn't really given much weight to them. Harry, at that time, had hated Snape with a vengeance, and everything to do with him couldn't be less than agonizing. Hermione knew Harry hadn't truly wanted to learn how to close his mind and had done his exercises half-heartedly at best. Quite contrary to her, who wanted to learn and was prepared. How difficult could it truly be?

"Having second thoughts, Miss Granger?" he enquired with a hint of mockery.

Admittedly, his warning had made her a little nervous. It was horrible to think that her lessons might turn into a similar disaster to Harry's – or that she'd turn out to be incompetent or inadvertently do something to offend him.

"Would you rather blow it off?" He gestured to the door connecting his office to the potions lab. "If so, I have plenty of cauldrons waiting to be cleaned..."

Strangely, she had the impression that he would readily consent if she indeed chose to back out – that he'd even be secretly relieved if she did. It made her decide not to.

She straightened her back. No, she desperately wanted to learn Occlumency – not only because she really hoped that it would help keep the nightmares at bay, but also because she was always keen on learning something new and unusual, and because it was a skill he had mastered. And maybe a little bit in order to prove that it wasn't as impossible to learn as Harry had claimed.

"No, Professor, I'd rather proceed, if you don't mind. I admit to being nervous, but that's probably to be expected. And as you always like to point out: I'm a Gryffindor. It once made me ask an unapproachable, rather scary teacher for a kiss. Having survived that, I believe I'll survive anything else."

She thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement, but she couldn't be sure.

"Yes, foolish Gryffindors..." he said, shaking his head. "Always rushing headfirst into danger with barely more than a fleeting thought to the possible outcome... I find them resistant to well-meant advice. Very well, then, Miss Granger, let us begin. I trust you know what to do?"

"Look you in the eyes so you can try to look inside my mind, while trying to keep you from doing so?"

"That's the basic idea."

"Okay then..." Hermione briefly closed her eyes and concentrated with all her might on the wall she had envisioned around her mind, before raising her gaze again to meet his.

He raised his wand to her temple, barely touching her skin, and softly said: "Legilimens!"

Much to his surprise, Severus found himself immediately blocked by a strong shield. That in itself wasn't totally unexpected, as even people who weren't trained in Occlumency often had some sort of protection. Strong-minded and disciplined witches and wizards, in particular, were known to instinctively build minor defensive walls around their mind. Mostly, those were visualisations of brick walls which were easy to crack. Hers, however, seemed to be made of thick, obtuse glass – at least at first glance.

Feeling the cold emanating from it, he soon realised it was a wall of ice, which surprised him even more. If he had expected her to have solid shields at all, he would have thought them to be of a different kind: warmer, more alive. Walls of fire, perhaps, or a hedge of thorn-bearing bushes. Ice didn't seem to fit the temperament of a fierce and fiery Gryffindor like her. Or at least it wouldn't have fitted the old Miss Granger. It disturbed him to realise that maybe it suited the woman whom she had become.

Preoccupied, he retreated from her mind and lowered his wand. Hermione blinked.

"You taught yourself how to shield?" he asked.

She looked slightly smug, though she tried not to be obvious about it. "When Harry had those lessons with you, I did some research by myself, and tried to apply the little I found. The books suggested that a simple brick wall was fallible, so I tried to visualise something different. Was it any good?"

"Adequate," he said, but immediately crushed the hopeful look she had on her face when she thought she might already be halfway there, "if you were trying to learn how to block people from entering your mind – which you are not."

That changed her look of pride to one of confusion. "I am not? But I thought... that is what you tried to teach Harry in all those Occlumency lessons ..."

"Wrong, Miss Granger. Occlumency is not about blocking somebody from entering your mind, although the useless books you can find on the topic tell you so. Which is why they are useless."

She looked slightly affronted at that, as if saying that a book was useless was close to blasphemy in her eyes.

"Use your brains, girl! What do you think the Dark Lord would have done if I had tried to erect walls to keep him out?"

"He would have tried to get in by force..."

"Indeed. Every shield can be broken if the Legilimens is willing to put enough force behind his attacks and doesn't care whether the mind he rapes remains intact. If need be, he can always resort to physical torture to break someone's mental hold on his shields. Occlumency is the skill to empty your mind of incriminating thoughts and emotions. If done successfully, the Legilimens is never even aware of the fact that you're withholding information from him."

"But Harry didn't need to deceive Voldemort," Hermione pointed out. "It would have been sufficient to keep him from entering."

"Because of the Horcrux, the Dark Lord was already inside Potters mind, just like the memories that are causing your nightmares are already in yours. They attack from within. The only way to stop them is to gain control over the workings of your mind – or to put it differently: You have to learn to control your thoughts and emotions. Which is what I tried to teach Potter. Unfortunately, to no avail."

"So my shield is entirely useless?"

"Quite obviously not. You managed to keep the truth about the sword of Gryffindor from Bellatrix, did you not?"

"You think Bellatrix used Legilimency on me?"

Severus struggled to keep his emotions from showing. She wouldn't even have to ask if the sadistic witch hadn't also crucioed her. But the pain from the curse had most likely drowned out all other sensations, even the painful attack on her shield. It was a wonder she had been able to erect one in the first place, even more that she had managed to hold it up under torture.

"She most certainly did. Bellatrix was a Legilimens, though not a particularly strong one. Which is why she had to resort to torture. Eventually, she would have cracked you. Physical pain is a very effective means of breaking through someone's defences, as shielding requires energy and concentration. But you held out long enough. Without your shield, she probably would have caught your lie immediately. But in order to teach you how to compartmentalise, how to separate harmless thoughts from dangerous ones and keep them hidden, I'll have to breach these defences and get inside your mind."

Her previous enthusiasm had faded, giving way to a feeling of impending doom. Maybe this had not been such a good idea after all...

His eyebrows rose. "You really thought it was all about putting a nice fancy shield in front of my nose, didn't you?" he asked, albeit without his usual sneer. "If it was as simple as that, Occlumens wouldn't be so rare."

"But what will I do when you're in?" Hermione asked, feeling worried now.

"You'll try to prevent me from seeing what I want to see."

"So simple, yes? But how do I do that?"

"That I can't tell you. You'll have to find a way to occlude your thoughts. It's different for everyone. Shutting them away is the most commonly used method, though I find it's the least effective one for the reasons I mentioned. You're giving away the fact that you hold secrets and you make plain where exactly those secrets are. Once a Legilimens knows where to find what he's looking for, he can break the protections you placed around them in the same way he broke your walls.

Hiding a particularly compromising memory in the open is another option – think of the crowded Room of Hidden Things and how difficult it is to find a certain object among the clutter. You can try to confuse an invader with trivial memories he'll have to sort through in order to find the one he's looking for. Another approach is to send the invader on a wild goose hunt by laying out false leads. Once you know what he's looking for, you can try to offer inconspicuous, related thoughts instead, which will only lead him to something similar in feeling or context. Or you can disguise a memory in such way that it appears to be something else entirely."

Hermione frowned. "How do you disguise a memory?"

"Just like you do with emotions. People do it all the time. Cloaking disdain behind pity, passing obsession for love, claiming to feel love instead of jealousy or masking insecurity behind arrogance or hatred. You can do so with memories by giving the situation a superficial, alternate meaning. Your goal is to hinder, to slow, to lead astray."

"What method do you use?"

"A mixture of all of these and some more. I had time and opportunity to perfect all kinds of techniques over the years, depending on what was working best under the circumstances."

"It all sounds so – abstract. I don't know how to disguise a memory or how to lay a false trail," she said, beginning to feel out of her depth.

"If you did, you'd be an Occlumens already. This is not Arithmancy, Miss Granger, where you put numbers into a formula and get a specific result. There is no recipe, like in Potions, that gives you step by step instructions. I cannot teach you a proper incantation and a wand movement like in Charms. Occlumency, like Defense, is more about intuition and following your instincts."

"Then I'm surely going to be miserable at it," she said, even more disheartened now. "I don't believe in intuition. I believe in logic and order, and I like having instructions."

He smirked. As if that hadn't become perfectly clear. "Then this will be, for once, a totally different kind of challenge for you. If it's any comfort, you can't be much worse than Potter."

She snorted at that, but continued to look miserable and nervous. He was right, the prospect of not getting it right didn't sit well with her. She was used to excelling at everything she did. Flying was the only art she had never really mastered. Well, that and Divination. But the latter wasn't worth fretting about. Failing at this was.

"What are you so concerned about?" he inquired. "That you might not get it at first try? You won't. I guarantee that I will see a lot of things in your mind before you even get close to being successful."

Hermione looked at him, aghast. To think that he might get to spend a lot of time roaming through her thoughts and memories was even more perturbing than the possibility of her being clumsy at this. She had indeed thought that her aim was to improve her shielding technique, and she had felt confident that she would master this skill relatively quickly. She had no idea what he was expecting her to do instead, how she was supposed to keep him from seeing things he mustn't see, and she dreaded to think what would happen if he did.

Severus had been studying her expressive face carefully. She looked pained now, ready to give up on this whole idea and flee. The rosy colour in her cheeks gave him a good idea where her concerns lay. Hopefully, once she knew how to successfully occlude her thoughts, she would also be cured of that particular tell. Why even go into her mind, if every emotion was written all over her face?

"I have no intention of looking at any – intimate – thoughts, if that's what you're concerned about", he told her, clearing his throat. Quite the contrary – he intended to stay away from those as far as possible. "You have my word that I won't go looking into anything of a decidedly private nature."

God, the man was far too perceptive. But she trusted him to respect these boundaries. After all, he was the one who insisted on keeping their distance. He wouldn't like what he found, if he broke his promise. Some things were better left private.

"Thank you," she said, embarrassed, but obviously relieved. However, some amount of trepidation remained etched on her face. When she dared look at him again she timidly added: "Actually, there are other things I really wouldn't want you to see either..."

"Naturally," he said. "But keeping me from seeing them is the point of this exercise, isn't?"

"Well, yes, but could you also try not to look too closely at other... potentially incriminating evidence?"

"Incriminating evidence?" He raised an eyebrow. What other thoughts than those linked to sexual fantasies would she consider incriminating? Surely he wouldn't find evidence of a murder she planned on committing. "Like what?"

"Like who set your robes on fire in my first year...?" she said in a small voice.

His eyebrow rose a little higher. "Well, well, Miss Granger, now you have me truly intrigued... I assume this special incident will come up quickly, given that it is so on the forefront of your mind."

"You have to promise there will be no repercussions for transgressions that have lapsed!" she hastily added.

The eyebrow almost disappeared into his hairline. "Getting all the more curious by the minute..." he said with emphasised intonation. "You're digging yourself deeper and deeper, Miss Granger! Is there anything else you wish to confess?"

"No," she sighed. "I guess I'll have to try to keep you from finding out."

"Very well, then. Prepare yourself." He raised his wand to her temple again and muttered the incantation.

Once more, he found himself standing in front of her shield of ice. Simple, brick-and-mortar constructions were easy enough to overcome – there were always cracks he could attack. But this wall was seamless and slick, much more difficult to penetrate, though he knew he could. It was just a question of how much force he was willing to put into it.

For a moment, he lingered on the icy, outer edge of her mind, unsure of how to proceed. He was reluctant to use any force at all. What he had explained to her about the weightless charm applied here as well: There was no difference between magical power and physical power. Although the wall wasn't real, the magical force he would have to use in order to breach it was real enough. She would feel it like a literal blow. And he didn't wish to hurt her.

Then, an unusual idea came to him. A bit hesitantly, he leaned against her walls, projecting the idea of warmth, comfort and affection. It didn't come easily to him to do such an awkwardly sentimental thing, but the result was well worth the effort it cost him to overcome his natural resistance: he felt her defences melt beneath his mind's touch, the ice turning to water, letting him pass with with ease. There were no further protections behind her initial barrier, just as he had expected.

He stepped right into a thick cloud of emotions. He hadn't expected her mind to be a warm and sunny place – the ice wall had already hinted at that. It had been clear to him as well that she had issues after the war, but he hadn't expected her dominating emotions to be so dark and desolate. They all spoke of loss and being lost, and were strongly interlaced with feelings of guilt, failure and inadequacy, and an ever present undercurrent of anxiety.

His own projection of comfort and affection had caused an echo in her mind and had brought forward memories that related to those feelings. They all were all of recent events involving her friends.

In the first, she was trying to calm a wrought-up Ginevra Weasley after being torn from sleep by her pitiful crying. Obviously, the girl had suffered another haunting nightmare of the final battle, reliving the death of her brother. This scene was followed by another memory of Hermione trying to comfort the youngest Weasley, who was in tears again, this time over the loss of her boyfriend whom she still felt very strongly about. There were more such situations with the girl, but also memories of a similar nature involving people he hadn't even counted among Hermione's friends.

He saw Hermione patiently reassure a worried and insecure Lavender Brown, telling her once again that she had absolutely no intentions of getting back together with Ron; that he loved his fiancé despite the horrible scarring inflicted on her by Fenrir Greyback, and there was no reason for jealousy just because Hermione was still trying be his friend.

He became witness to those efforts in several episodes in which she was trying to placate her ex-boyfriend, who had gotten irrationally upset over some triviality again, hoping with clenched teeth and nerves on edge that, that this time, she'd be able to keep him from exploding.

She also made efforts to cheer up Harry, who felt bad for having broken Ginny's heart and involuntarily putting Ron into a position in which his loyalty towards his best friend conflicted with his loyalty towards his sister. She listened patiently when he talked about his self-doubts and his confusion about his sexual inclination, and encouraged him when he admitted to feeling attracted to someone who, in all likelihood, would never return his feelings.

This memory, to his surprise, was followed by a memory in which Hermione awkwardly embraced Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be on the verge of tears, and a more recent one, where she, obviously in distress herself, granted him absolution from the guilt he felt about her being subjected to so much suffering at the hands of his relatives, in his home.

In all these episodes, Severus could feel her empathy, her sadness and her grief, but also a growing feeling of helplessness and resentment that was subtly undermining her efforts to be understanding and sympathetic, which sometimes made her want to pull her hair and scream in frustration.

It was obvious that she was desperately trying to keep it all together and to ease everybody's burden, but it was pushing her to the breaking point. What she had failed to mention in her explanation as to why she couldn't burden her friends with her problems was the fact that they didn't have similar concerns – she was their sounding board. She was trying to be strong for everybody while slowly coming apart at the seams herself.

Considering her overall state of mind, he was amazed that she had managed to keep going this far. There was profound weariness in every corner of her mind. She hadn't any energy left now to work out plans for her own life. She had barely enough energy to make it through the day. No wonder she had fallen asleep in his class. She was exhausted, mentally and emotionally.

Gently, he retreated from her mind.

Her face was pale and her eyes wide. She swayed a little, feeling dizzy. He quickly reached out to stabilise her and keep her on the chair. With a twitch of conscience he transfigured it into an armchair to assure that she wouldn't fall off. He had consciously neglected to do this before they had started the lesson – it had seemed to intimate, too much of a reminder of things best forgotten for the time being. Now, it seemed almost petty.

"I told you it was going to be an unpleasant experience to have your mind invaded like that," he offered – not an apology, but at least acknowledgment of her discomfort. "Potter surely told you that it's disconcerting, intrusive and painful."

"It wasn't painful at all," she replied, after she had regained her composure. Intrusive and disconcerting, yes. She had perceived a sudden, encompassing sensation of warmth that had totally engulfed her. It had felt like being enveloped in a warming blanket after coming in from the snow. Though full of comfort, sympathy and affection, it had also been intense, alarming and too much to handle. Surprisingly, the feelings in the memories he had viewed had mirrored those sentiments. "It was nothing like Harry described it. There was just a kind of pressure and the feeling of having something within me that doesn't belong there," she tried to sort out the strangeness of the experience and put it into words. "It was overwhelming when you first entered, as if my mind resisted, not knowing how to process your presence, but I got used to it after a while. I believe it's going to be better next time, now that I know what do expect."

She blushed, suddenly realizing that these descriptions were a bit ambiguous – as if she was talking of a different kind of intimacy altogether. "What I meant to say was..."

"No need to explain, Miss Granger," he said, fully aware of what she was thinking from just looking at her face. It couldn't be denied that there were similarities between penetrating the mind and penetrating the body, although he hadn't been aware of them in such clarity before. But then, he had only ever used Occlumency and Legilimency with male wizards, which, given his inclination, had never triggered such associations. He cleared his throat and reached for a phial he had set on his desk. "Here – drink this. It's a headache relieving potion. Even if you don't feel any pain now, consider it a pre-emptive measure."

She obeyed, and he also offered her a cup of tea to chase away the lingering aftertaste. With an internal sigh, he took notice of the strange repetition of events.

"You need to get some sleep, Miss Granger," he finally said. "I understand Madam Pomfrey is concerned about the side-effects of sleeping potions, but you are at a point where your exhaustion is concerning me more than the risk of addiction. Haven't you been sleeping at all, lately?"

"Not much," she admitted. "As I said – Ginny and I kept tearing each other out of sleep with our nightmares, but now that the headmistress has given us individual rooms... it's simply too quiet. I've not slept alone in a room since I was a child. I was in a dormitory for six years, and the last year, I slept in a tent with Harry and Ron. I easily fell asleep with Ginny in my room. But without hearing them breathe or mumble in their sleep, without the boys snoring, I feel like I'm cut off from the world. And I start hearing things that are not there. I just don't feel safe all alone."

"I see." He sighed again. He'd have to talk to Minerva. But for now... He flicked his wand, and one of the chairs next to the fireplace that he mainly used to store books on transformed into a sofa.

"I have some Wolfsbane to brew tonight. If you think it might help, you may try to get some rest here until I'm finished. It'll be a couple of hours."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You'd allow me to stay here for a while?"

He really shouldn't, but he considered it an emergency measure. "Officially, you're still serving detention. I can hardly let you go this early, or people will think I've gone soft. Besides, I'd rather have you sleep in my office than in my classroom. Provided you are comfortable with that?"

"I am. I always feel safe when you're around. That's why I fell asleep in your class in the first place. Your presence is... soothing."

"Now there's a scary thought..." he muttered. "I'll have to work on my intimidation skills."

She grinned. "And you're funny, too."

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger! Go to sleep before I revoke my offer."

"Yes, Sir." Hermione obediently settled on the sofa, which was surprisingly comfortable, and he made a move to the door.

"I'll be in the lab, right next door."

"Professor Snape?" How she wished she could ask him for a good-night kiss. "Could you leave the door slightly ajar, please?"

"If I must."

"Thank you."

*'*'*'*'*

He let her sleep until well after midnight. His potion had brewed, cooled and been left to stand for half an hour by the time he moved to check on Hermione. But when he found her sound asleep, he hadn't the heart to wake her just yet. She finally looked relaxed and peaceful, and he resented the fact that she couldn't find such solace in sleep every night. After watching her breathe deeply and evenly for a couple of minutes, he retreated back into his lab, not meaning to act creepily by continuously staring at her.

He bottled the potion, cleaned his drawer of cutting knives, crushers and measuring utensils, rewrote the labels on some of his storage containers and wiped the already clean surfaces of his work table once again. When there finally wasn't anything left he could occupy himself with, he went back in his office to wake her.

Calling her name softly didn't cause a reaction. She was still sound asleep. He was afraid to startle her again, but he could hardly let her stay in his office all night. Making sure that she didn't hold her wand in her hand, he reached out and carefully touched her shoulder.

"Miss Granger?"

She opened her eye sleepily, and, still not fully awake, gave him a warm and unguarded smile, as if just seeing him made her happy. His breath caught in his throat.

"Professor Snape," she murmured, sitting up and suppressing a yawn. "I'm sorry... What time is it?"

"Almost one. High time you got back to your room. Come on, I'll escort you there in case Filch is still up and about." She nodded and got up.

"Thank you – for letting me sleep so long. It was very restful."

"It was only three and a half hours."

"Even so."

He walked her to Gryffindor Tower in silence. She was still half asleep and wouldn't have known what to say anyway. When she opened her door, however, she turned around and thanked him again – for his offer of help, for his understanding, and his patience. She could have kept going, but a look in his face told her better not to. He obviously wasn't used to receiving thanks and didn't quite know what to do with them.

"I will still see you in detention next Wednesday," he just said, turned his back on her and departed without another word of good-bye.


	5. Detention

Summary of Chapter Four - Occlumency the First

On his first attempt to legilimise Hermione, Severus finds that Hermione has taught herself how to shield her mind. Though he is impressed with her achievement, he explains that shielding is not what will help her with her nightmares. He will have to delve into her mind in order to teach her how to occlude her thoughts instead. When Hermione is reluctant, he promises her that he won't pry into memories or thoughts they both consider private. On his second attempt, he conquers her shields easily enough and witnesses multiple memories involving her friends, which tell him that Hermione is emotionally and physically exhausted. He lets her sleep on a couch in his office for a couple of hours while he is working in the lab. He also decides that he'll have to talk to Minerva regarding Hermione's sleeping problems.

* * *

 **Detention**

Severus had spoken to Minerva the very next day, making a proposal that she had found quite baffling, probably mostly because it was coming from him.

"Of course you have my approval, Severus!" she had beamed. "I'm very pleased that you show so much concern for an out-of-house student, a Gryffindor no less!"

"Don't be ridiculous," he had replied disdainfully. "I'm merely concerned for the students in my potions class. Your former star pupil's insomnia is getting disruptive and dangerous. Clearly, the measures you have taken are not working. Since we are in agreement, I will approach Miss Lovegood right away."

The ensuing conversation with the misty-eyed Ravenclaw, however, had left Severus just as baffled as the headmistress. True, one never knew what to expect from the strange girl, but her reply to his appeal had been even more out-of-this-world than usual.

Apart from these encounters, his week had been reasonably quiet. He hadn't spoken to Hermione – Miss Granger! – outside class, although he had seen her in the library a couple of times. She had always nodded politely before turning her attention back to her books. Once or twice, she had thrown him a curious glance, as if she was wondering what frequent business he had with the librarian, just as he was wondering why she was sitting with Draco of all people, most of the time.

In class, she had really made an effort to stay focused, so he hadn't been forced to reprimand her any more. She still had looked tired, but with her level of exhaustion, it would take a while before she got her reserves back, provided she was sleeping a little bit better now.

Even so, he thought it wise to take it slowly with her extra-curricular lessons. He knew from experience that it was draining to have one's mind attacked, even more so if one was trying to defend it by raising shields. If he was being entirely honest, he wasn't really keen on delving into her mind again; he still found the intimacy unsettling. But he intended to keep his word and teach her – he just wanted to make sure that her magical and physical reserves were stronger than last time.

He needed more time with her, but giving her more detentions was not an option. When pondering how to resolve this issue, an idea had formed in his mind, but he still wasn't sure if it was a wise one. Would she even agree to the proposal, if he could bring himself to actually make it? He could just about imagine Minerva's face when he approached her about her precious Gryffindor a second time – especially with that particular suggestion...

Punctually as ever, he heard the expected knock at his office door. "Do come in, Miss Granger," he called, only briefly looking up from the essay he was correcting.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," she greeted, and he had a hard time appearing unaffected when she smiled at him as openly and disarmingly as she had the night she had slept on his couch. She approached his desk, about to sit down in the chair opposite from him, but he stopped her right away: "No need to get comfortable – you'll be cleaning cauldrons tonight. The first years tried their hand at a sticking paste today. Nasty potion. It always takes hours to get the remains out of the cauldrons."

Her face fell. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes, unsure if he was joking.

He waved his wand at the brick wall that separated his office from the potions lab, and it promptly turned into a large, open archway that connected the rooms. When he was alone in his office, he preferred the more open space, as the dungeon with its low vaulted ceiling was oppressive enough, and the open archway allowed him to oversee detentions easily from his desk. Only when his class was brewing particularly smelly or volatile potions or if privacy was needed in his office did he close the wall.

"This is really going to be a detention?" Hermione asked, staring at the pile of cauldrons on the nearest working table in consternation.

"Of course. You didn't expect me to favour you, did you?"

"Well, no," she answered unconvincingly. "I just thought we'd continue with the Occlumency lessons tonight."

Seeing her disappointment, he didn't have the heart to continue acting like the strict and mean professor he was – well, at least with everybody else. "I'd rather have you get some rest before we try that again," he offered as explanation. "Defending against attacks on your mind is quite exhausting."

"And scrubbing cauldrons isn't?" she asked with a frown.

He returned her gaze with ill-concealed amusement. "Yes, but it's physical labour. It's supposed to tire your body rather than drain your magical reserves. I find it helps with insomnia quite nicely. Once your body is too exhausted to stay upright, your mind will follow the lead."

She sighed. "So I guess I'm not allowed to use magic?"

"No, Miss Granger, you'll do it the muggle way. Use the cleaning powder on the top shelf."

Resignedly, Hermione shrugged out of her school robe and threw it over a chair. With its long, flowing sleeves, it was completely unsuitable for the task she'd been given. She grabbed the first cauldron and hauled it over to the sink. "And here I thought he had quit being nasty and vindictive," she muttered to herself while reaching for the brush and the soap.

"I heard that!" he called, head bent over his essays again. When she threw a quick glance over her shoulder, she thought she saw a hint of humour lurking in the corner of his mouth. "You'd better be careful, Miss Granger. I'm pretty sure Mr. Filch wouldn't be so generous as to give you the _good_ cleaning products when he makes you clean the lavatories..."

"You are aware that threats lose credibility when overused, aren't you?" she retorted. "I know you can still be mean, but not that mean."

This time, he just gave her one of his trademark pointed stares that conveyed meaning quite well without words. Okay, so that particular weapon was still pretty effective. "I'll be good, now, I promise," she quickly backpedaled, not putting it past him to make good on his offer, amused or not.

His eyebrow quirked, but he didn't comment further. For a while, they both silently concentrated on their tasks. While his mind was occupied with the corrections he had to focus on, hers was free to wander, and that was dangerous. Sooner or later, her thoughts would either end up circling war-related issues or they'd inevitably circle him. And just now, with him present, that didn't seem advisable.

Instead, she thought back to the strange conversation she had had with Luna a few days ago, which brought a question to mind that had bothered her ever since.

"Are you, by any chance, behind the new sleeping arrangements the headmistress has made for me?"

Professor Snape looked up. His face, though no longer hidden by long hair, didn't reveal much of anything. "If she gave you Miss Lovegood as a roommate, then it might indeed be attributable to a suggestion I made. Why? Are those arrangements not to your liking?"

Hermione gave him another smile. "They are, very much indeed. Thank you! Luna is great. She's – I don't know how to describe it... serene, is the most fitting word, I guess. She's so calm about everything. I can't remember ever seeing her panicky or even remotely concerned, no matter what the circumstances. One would think that after being held hostage at Malfoy Manor, she'd be traumatised as well."

"It certainly wasn't the most agreeable place to be at the time, but Miss Lovegood was treated reasonably well," he said, his face darkening. "Contrary to you, she suffered no harm."

"Yes, I know. Draco brought her food, news and other things she urgently needed, like bottle corks and such."

He blinked, then shook his head. "No. I'm not even going to ask."

"I'm sure she needed them to cleanse Malfoy Manor of evil or something. At least it seems to have worked with Draco. He has changed a lot."

Although Luna's theories on the workings of the world were decidedly strange, Hermione was reluctant to dismiss them outright. In her experience, they too often hit the mark. Hermione had told no one about her visit to the dungeons and the fact that she had fulfilled her vow, but although Luna had no way of knowing, she had delightedly remarked that Hermione was no longer haunted by Netherfairies the very next day. Before Hermione had gotten over her surprise, Luna had added regretfully that Hermione now seemed to have caught the Bluedrags instead.

'It's not surprising, really – Hogwarts is infested with them,' she had declared sombrely. 'Unfortunately, there isn't much we can do about it, except paint everything pink, but the headmistress wasn't enthused about that idea. Let's hope that once the people are healed, they'll vanish from the walls, too. If only there weren't so many infected... the castle is practically glowing like a rainbow with so many of its inhabitants walking around with coloured auras. I'm pretty sure I'm having a slight case of Gloomilows myself, too, but nobody will tell me.'

'Glue-me-lows?' Hermione had echoed a bit stupidly.

Luna hadn't seemed to mind her ignorance. She had dutifully explained that the latter was just the more common name, as Bluedrags was slightly misleading. After all, not everyone's aura turned blue when infected. Hermione's, for instance, was a deep yellow, which had Luna concerned.

'Why?' Hermione had asked, feeling a bit unsettled herself. 'What does yellow mean?'

Luna had looked at her as if she had just asked a particularly interesting question, cocking her head. 'Oh, that I don't know,' she had answered. 'It's the true colour of your aura. Usually, everybody's aura appears white. A colouring indicates that you've caught the Bluedrags, which are making you sick. The good thing about them is that they also reveal your true colours. And you should really go and see Professor Snape more often. His aura is deep purple. He's been infected with Gloomilows for as long as I can remember.'

Slightly alarmed, Hermione had asked for the reason for this particular piece of advice. She had been wondering if Luna was just being exceptionally weird or exceptionally perceptive again. Luna herself had obviously thought that it was self-explanatory and had responded with an unspoken, but clearly discernibly 'duh' in her voice: 'Because exposing your Gloomilows to each other's astral radiation will kill them, of course.'

Hermione shook her head, remembering the funny conversation, and wiped her forehead. All this scrubbing was making her sweaty.

"What are you smiling about?" her professor's questioning voice interrupted her musings. He had noticed Hermione's flushed and happy face when she took the next cauldron off the pile. "Cauldron scrubbing is not supposed to be entertaining."

He briefly wondered if her blush and her smile had anything to do with the mentioning of his godson. He had seen them both in the library again today, amicably sitting next to each other, heads bent over some tomes and engrossed in a friendly discussion.

"I know," Hermione replied, smiling even more widely. "Trust me, it isn't. I was just thinking of an entertaining conversation I recently had."

He halted his quill, looking at her with a rather peculiar expression. "With Draco?"

"No, why? With Luna."

Oh. Well, he still had his own, rather odd conversation with Miss Lovegood in vivid memory. Strange girl, that one. "Really?" he asked back, clearly interested now. "Did she tell you that you're giving off purple steam, too?"

Hermione looked at him, mouth agape. Surely Luna hadn't... Who was she kidding – it was Luna – she probably had. "No, mine's actually yellow," she answered solemnly, trying to keep a straight face. "And it's not steam, but radiation. I've been told it complements yours nicely."

He snorted and busied himself with arranging the corrected and uncorrected essays into neat piles, tidying up his desk. "I saw you and Draco in the library today," he then remarked casually. "It seems that your relationship has changed for the better..."

Hermione brightened again. "Yes, it certainly has. Draco's been really civil towards me, lately. It's hard to believe he's the same boy who kept calling me mudblood with such disdain."

"Draco, too, had a role to play," he felt obligated to point out. "Much of his demeanour was brought about by other people's expectations rather than born out of his own convictions."

"Yes. Being raised by bigot parents and fed this nonsense of pureblood supremacy with his mother's milk probably made it difficult to question those beliefs. The fact that Harry saved his life in the Room of Hidden Things – after Draco had attacked him with the intent of delivering him to Voldemort – gave him an epiphany."

"He had been questioning the Dark Lord's goals long before that. I could sense it, but I didn't know how to ecourage his critical thinking without endangering my position. I tried to gently nudge him, but he didn't recognise my efforts for what they were. His dear aunt Bellatrix was constantly whispering into his ear, and his parents' welfare depended largely on his good conduct. It was a heavy burden to carry for a rather fragile boy."

Not having been able to help Draco was one of his own most weighty burdens. He had failed him just like he had failed his other godson, having managed to save his life only at the cost of his soul. He should have done more.

"It's a good thing that you didn't lay your cards on the table back then," Hermione said, unaware that she seemed to be responding to his thoughts. "Draco admitted that himself. He told me that he was torn at the time and that it could have gone either way – with him coming over to our side or betraying you to Voldemort instead."

"He actually admitted that to you?" He looked surprised. "I hadn't realised that you had become such close friends..."

She shrugged. "It's not like Draco has a great many people to choose from right now. He's the only seventh year student from Slytherin who returned, and most of the other houses consider him a traitor. He's the boy who tried to kill Dumbledore, after all. I guess I became his confidant for lack of options."

"No," the head of his house objected. "Draco is a Slytherin to the core. It's not in him to bare himself in such a way to anyone – unless he's very trusting of the person. It's obvious that he holds you in very high esteem, Miss Granger."

"Or I'm just a good sounding board. Many people tell me of their problems nowadays."

That much was true. It had been obvious in the memories he had seen. "You have proved yourself to be extremely loyal and trustworthy," he pointed out. "It's a characteristic Slytherins value above anything else."

"Really?" She lifted her head, giving him a sceptical look. "I thought it was subtlety and cunning that they valued most."

"Those are qualities Slytherins possess," he corrected. "But they value what is not so easily found in their own house. We usually admire most in others what we find ourselves lacking in."

She pondered that for a moment. "Yes, I suppose that's true. Slytherins don't wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I always thought that actions speak louder than words, anyway. Gryffindors are always so – boisterous. They know no discretion, no patience. I like that Draco doesn't always have to comment on everything. I can tell him stuff without him immediately shouting out his outrage or his enthusiasm. He just listens, waits until I've sorted out my own feelings and gives his opinion only in a very minimalist manner. He's making me think instead of telling me what to think."

Hermione realised that the same was also true for her Potions professor. It proved the proverb right that opposites attracted. Gryffindors and Slytherins certainly were as contrary as it got. She heaved another cauldron onto the slowly growing pile of cleaned ones and took off her woollen cardigan. It was getting much too warm in it. For once, she welcomed the cool of the dungeon.

"I find it amazing that you're even talking to each other amicably, considering your past differences," her professor remarked, while she attacked the next cauldron with her brush.

She miled fondly. "I admit I thought for years that he was just a conceited prat and that there was nothing of substance behind his good looks and his family's fortune. I saw him as just as two-dimensional as he saw me – Harry's sidekick, a mudblood, a nerd. He acted like it was expected of him when antagonising and insulting me. Granted, he didn't question his behaviour back then, but we were children... I can't hold his past actions against him, not when he's clearly making an effort to be different now. He even apologised to me."

Severus gave her an astonished look, then quickly turned his gaze back to his papers. Seeing her just in her blouse with her sleeves pulled up and the material clinging to the skin of her back seemed slightly indecent. Strange, that he would think so. He'd seen plenty of girls scrubbing cauldrons dressed in just their school skirts and blouses – it wasn't the kind of work that could be done in robes with long and flowing sleeves. But none of them had ever led his mind on a path it shouldn't wander. Or made him feel warm just by watching their sweat-inducing efforts and flushed skin.

"So – you're friends with Draco now?" he asked, trying to lead his thoughts out of slippery terrain. Maybe not entirely successfully.

"I guess so..." Hermione paused, giving the question some thought. She probably could call him a friend. "He's a very complex person, intelligent and misjudged. I always found myself drawn to those people, and I strongly believe in second chances. I think that underneath his arrogance, Draco hides a very sensitive and vulnerable heart."

"Yes, as his godfather I can confirm that to be true." Once again, he was astonished at her insight. "And... are you sure that there are no tender feelings involved?" he inquired, making an effort to sound nonchalant. It was quite possible that Draco felt more for her than just friendship. And just as possible that she returned those feelings.

"On whose part?" She looked at him and frowned. Surely he didn't mean to suggest... or did he? "I told you about my feelings," she said, feeling anger rise at his insinuation. "And now you're asking if I feel attracted to Draco? If you didn't believe me, maybe you should check next time you're in my head!"

He immediately realised his blunder. "Miss Granger..."

"No – don't 'Miss Granger' me now!" She threw the sponge into the cauldron and wrung her hands. "Seriously, just think about what you're insinuating by even asking such a thing! You're either accusing me of lying to you, suggesting that I'm fickle, or belittling my emotions by implying that I don't know my own heart! And with all of that, you're basically saying that I'm shallow."

"Of course you're not! I never meant to..." He took a deep breath. "It wasn't intended to sound like it did."

"So how exactly did you intend to sound? Do you still find it so hard to believe that what I told you was true?"

"To be totally honest, yes," he said bluntly. "It's surreal. Sometimes, when I see you in Potions class, I still wonder if I haven't imagined the whole thing."

"Well, sometimes, when you're telling me off and calling me 'Miss Granger' in that scornful tone of voice, I wonder the same thing! You wanted us to pretend nothing happened. So of course it seems surreal!"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're right. And it was also me who told you to go live your life and kiss some boys, which I still think was the right thing to say and still would be the right thing to do." He paused, then reluctantly added: "It's just – thinking about it now, I find that I don't like the idea very much."

At his admission, her angry scowl slowly morphed into a tender smile that made her eyes shine. The transformation was bedazzling. "Good," she said, and all of her anger had fled from her voice. "Because I don't like the idea either. And I will do no such thing. I like Draco, but I don't like him like that. As a matter of fact, I don't like any boy like that." She sighed and fished the sponge out of the water. "I like _you_. And I miss you."

He struggled for words, but couldn't seem to find the right ones. "You see me every day," he said, pointing out the obvious instead.

"Yes, in class, or at meals, sitting at the staff table. But that's different."

He wasn't obtuse – he knew exactly what she meant. He just preferred not to talk about it, not even admit to himself that he wished he could treat her differently – that he could sit down and have a glass of Firewhiskey with her, listen to her chattering, get her point of view on things and wonder about the crazy conclusions she often came up with, become a confidant for her secrets, her concerns and her hopes and... no. It couldn't be like that. Funny, how he craved something he had only gotten a brief taste of.

"I'm trying my best to only see my professor in you," the girl said, echoing his thoughts. "But it's kind of a strain to pretend there's no big white elephant in the room with us."

She had that right as well. It was actually more a small herd of elephants, but it was better if she remained unaware of them. There was nothing that could be done about them within reasonable time anyway.

"I just wish there was some middle ground," she said wistfully.

He gave her a thoughtful look. "Maybe there is..." he mused, wondering if what he had in mind perhaps allowed for a little more confidentiality than their current teacher-student relationship. He got up and came over to the table next to the sink, inspecting the result of her labour. She had cleaned about two thirds of the cauldrons, but was making only slow progress now. Her arms were probably getting heavy, and her hands must be burning from the fairly aggressive soap.

"You may stop now, Miss Granger," he said, surprising her once more. "I wanted you tired, but not exhausted to the point of passing out in my lab again."

"Maybe I could finish the remaining cauldrons with magic?" she suggested. It was nice of him to remit part of her penalty, but she was reluctant to leave her work unfinished.

He shook his head. "No. It's impossible to vanish the remains of sticking potion with magic. It doesn't work."

She gave him a puzzled look. "What? But I always thought..." She had thought that he was just being spiteful by forbidding the use magic for cleaning cauldrons in detention. He had never explained this small, but important detail to anybody. "So, who's cleaning them, usually?"

He smirked. "Usually, I make sure that I have detentions to oversee when any of my classes are brewing sticking potion."

"And now? Will you have the house-elves do it?"

He rolled his eyes. If he did that, he was sure that she'd insist on staying and finishing the work herself, despite the fact that she was having a hard time lifting her arms now. "No, that particular kind of soap is much worse on their skin than on a human's. I'll finish it myself later. Here..." He held out her cardigan to her. "You'd better put that back on. You don't want to catch a cold on top of everything else. Even if you don't feel it right now, it's chilly in here."

Hermione obeyed, marvelling again at his caring side that he kept so carefully hidden. He waved her over to his desk and pointed at the chair opposite from his. "Sit. I have a suggestion for you."

Curious, she sat down in what she had began to think of as _her_ armchair, as he once again transfigured it without a second thought. He reached into the shelf with all those horrible jars behind him and took a out a little pot filled with salve which he held out to her. "For your hands."

She gratefully accepted the offered relief. The cool balm immediately soothed her irritated and burning skin. "You know... You are really incredibly nice if you want to be..." she said, watching as he poured two cups of tea and put one of in front of her.

He gave her a scowling glance, as if to belie the statement and his action. "I trust you to be able to keep a well-guarded secret, Miss Granger."

"Oh, don't worry. Nobody would believe me anyway. Your secrets are safe with me." It didn't go unnoticed by him that the last part was spoken like an afterthought and without the teasing note. And although he had just said a common phrase without thinking and wouldn't ever dare to reveal his real secrets to anyone, her words still touched him. What would it be like, he wondered, to really be able to trust someone? He hadn't ever had that luxury. Trust was an entirely foreign concept to him and he wasn't quite sure if he envied people who were capable of trusting others or if he should call them stupid.

"So what kind of suggestion were you talking about?" she asked, steering the conversation back into safe waters and sparing him the need to come up with a response that, most likely, would be lacking again.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in officially becoming my assistant. I would appreciate having more time for doing private research, and you're more than capable of brewing most of the supplies for the hospital wing and helping to correct the lower year's essays. It's also a nice cover story for the time required to teach you Occlumency. I can't keep giving you detentions – it would ruin your reputation as a Goody-two-shoes."

"I'm not!" she huffed.

"You're not interested?" he asked, taken aback by her spontaneous rejection. Admittedly, it was not the answer he had expected.

"What? No – of course I'm interested! I'd love spending more time with you, and I love brewing. But I'm not a Goody-two-shoes."

Ah! He leaned slightly forward, his eyes glittering sardonically. "I have known that since first year, Miss Granger. For all your trying to be a good girl, we both know you're not. You have this rebellious streak in you that requires a firm hand... but that still hasn't sunk in with the majority of staff. They consider you a paragon of virtue, a shining example to the rest of the student body. Little do they know..."

She blushed. Yes, if they ever learned some of the things she had done... set her Potions Professor's robes on fire in her first year, stole ingredients from him to secretly brew Polyjuice Potion in her second and attacked and stunned the same professor in her third. She had captured and blackmailed a reporter of the Daily Prophet in her fourth, lured the former headmistress into the Forbidden Forest to be abducted by Centaurs in her fifth, hexed a fellow student so he wouldn't get on the Quidditch team in her sixth, broke into Gringotts and stole a dragon in what would have been her seventh year and more or less bullied her Potions Professor into kissing her in her eighth. If they knew all that, they'd doubtlessly be shocked, even more so if they knew what thoughts she entertained about said teacher. Hell, he'd probably be shocked, too. Just to be on the safe side, she quickly evaded his gaze and re-focused on the discussion at hand.

"Do you think the headmistress would agree to me becoming your assistant?"

"Actually, the idea came from Professor Sprout. She's thinking of offering Mr. Longbottom an apprenticeship after getting his NEWTs and wanted him to do some field work beforehand. Let's face it: For a lot of those students who are repeating their seventh year, the curriculum is not challenging enough. Though they have gaps in their education in some classes due to last year's circumstances, a lot of what we're teaching is old news to them. You're not the only one who finds herself bored in classes, Miss Granger. Thus the idea of offering special projects to students with an affinity for a subject. The headmistress was quite taken with it."

"And you think I do have an affinity for potions?"

"As a brewer, yes. As a potioneer? Probably not. But you're the only one I would work with."

"So this is meant to lay the ground for a later apprenticeship?"

He shrugged. "It might. While there haven't been apprentices in Hogwarts for a long time, it used to be quite common a few decades ago. But a couple of teachers are thinking of retiring, and the idea of training their own successors clearly has merit. Poppy mentioned that Miss Abbot might be interested in the medical field. She has proved invaluable in the aftermath of the battle."

"And has the headmistress also suggested that you take on an apprentice?"

"Funnily enough, no."

"I can't imagine why!"

"Cheek, Miss Granger!" he admonished, but hid a smirk. "Apart from the obvious reason of thinking that I would never consider such a thing, she knows that I wasn't planning on staying. Surely not long enough to train an apprentice."

"Oh... You are seriously thinking of leaving Hogwarts?"

He sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. As you surely have realised, I have not become a teacher out of vocation."

"You're still making a good job of it."

"There are not many who would agree with you on that."

"Well, you'll probably never make it to the top rank of Hogwarts' most liked professors, but students do respect you. Now that you're not as horribly unfair anymore as you were before, I think you're actually pretty good."

"You're probably a little biased." She had admitted to feeling attracted to him and she had kissed him. It was safe to say that she was a special case among his students.

"Yes. Definitely so," Hermione agreed. "But so are most of the older students who are still here. Let's face it – in three years, hardly anybody will remember your role in the war and how it forced you to act. You can be the teacher you want to be."

"I have zero tolerance for stupidity. That's not a good starting point for teaching mostly dunderheads." He strongly and passionately hated it if people didn't engage their brains before talking or acting, which happened all too frequently. It wasn't so much to ask, really. But some students never seemed to get the knack of it, and that angered him beyond measure.

"Oh come on, we're not all that bad! Most of us are doing a well enough in the NEWT level classes."

"Yes, but only because I set the entrance levels high enough to keep the worst imbeciles out," he argued. "I have no such choice with the younger students."

"Well, then maybe you should work around the problem. Everybody knows that you like teaching Defence, too. Maybe you could concentrate on both NEWT level classes and let Minerva find someone else to teach the lower OWL ones. I know for sure that Remus would prefer working part-time only, and he's really good with the younger students."

He pondered this. It was certainly an interesting idea. Teaching only the older students would give him time for his private research. He could probably do some commercial brewing, too. And Minerva would be happy if he stayed. It wasn't easy to find a teacher for NEWT level potions. The idea was certainly worth more intense consideration.

"Notwithstanding what may happen in my future, my offer stands. So you're interested?"

"Of course I am!"

"Then I will speak to the headmistress. I will see you on Wednesday at the latest for your next Occlumency lesson."

* * *

 _As to the Potions lab and Severus office: I had a hard time visualising it, as in the movies both rooms looked almost identical. I had a chance to visit the movie set and learned that the same background was in fact used for takes of the lab as well as of those in his office. To reconcile these conflicting images, I imagined a removable wall between the part that is his office and the students' lab._


	6. Wands, Wotnits and Weapknats

Summary of Chapter Five – Detention

On Severus' suggestion, Luna becomes Hermione's new roommate to help with her sleeping problems. In her last detention, Hermione expects her professor to continue their Occlumency lessons, but he makes her clean cauldrons instead. They come to talk about Luna and her baffling theories and about Draco, whom Hermione has befriended. Severus wonders if there is more to their relations than friendship and shows signs of jealousy at the idea. His reaction makes Hermione angry, and they have a short argument about their awkward situation. Severus apologises. He then proposes that Hermione become his brewing assistant for the remainder of the year, which would give them both a plausible reason to continue their Occlumency meetings. Hermione happily agrees.

 _A/N: This chapter has not yet been proof-read by my awesome beta, Dreamthrower, after I changed a few things in it. I will correct all the mistakes she finds as soon as I receive her 'approved' version._

* * *

 **Wands, Whotnits and Weapknats**

When the Potions Master returned to his office after his discussion with the headmistress, he was smirking inside. For the second time within a few days, he had managed to render Minerva speechless. 'You want to take on an apprentice?' she had asked, flabbergasted.

'An assistant for potion projects', he had corrected her. 'And I want it to be Miss Granger.'

Minerva had wanted to know why he was taking such an interest in one of her cubs, and that question had been a tricky one to answer. Finally he had decided to go with the truth. It was a great tactic with her, as she knew him to never be straightforward or forthcoming, and immediately suspected it must be something else.

'You _like_ her and find her company agreeable?' she had asked incredulously, and snorted. 'Surely you don't expect me to believe that? Hah – I see right through you, Severus! You finally had to admit that she's smart and capable, and you want her for your private brewing!' He hadn't said anything else, merely raised his brow, which had confirmed it for her. Still, she was thrilled, just like he had expected her to be, and had instantly given her consent.

He had informed Hermione right after class the next day, and they had agreed to meet this evening again, to discuss the details of what he expected her to do, and to work out a schedule for regular meetings. With all the brewing she could do for Poppy, the lower classes' essays she could correct and with her Occlumency lessons, he'd be having no problems to keep her occupied. Still, he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to seeing her on a regular basis, even though it would make keeping up their facade much harder.

His assessment was proven right when Hermione came to his office that evening, her eyes sparkling with amusement. It was the most life he had seen in them in weeks, and it was all the more surprising since students usually passed through his office door in silent dread or at least with a reasonable amount of discomfort on their faces.

Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped into her usual chair, which he had already transfigured for her without giving it a thought. Taking notice of own unconscious action, he sighed. They had gotten entirely too comfortable.

"Have you seen this?" Hermione asked and held up a newspaper.

Severus shook his head, as much in negation of her question as displeasure at his recent realisation. To dispel the notion of exaggerated amiableness, he put on a well-measured frown as well. "If it's the Daily Prophet, the answer is 'no, I haven't.' I refuse to read that rubbish excuse for a newspaper."

"It isn't the Prophet," she grinned. "It's actually worse... It's the Quibbler!" She held it out to him and gestured impatiently. "Go ahead – read it! I assure you it's worth it!"

Making sure that his frown was still firmly in place, he took the paper from her and read.

 **Getting the Best of the Gloomilows**

 _Luna Lovegood for 'The Quibbler'_

 _Largely unnoticed by the wizarding public, a huge epidemic of Gloomilows has broken out at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the aftermath of what is likely to enter historic archives as Voldewar II._

 _Although Gloomilows are known to infest places which have been exposed to grief and sadness over an extended period of time, students and staff have been found concerningly uninformed about the nature of the disease. So far, no concerted effort has been made to counter the mass infection, which, unfortunately, increases the likelihood of further spreading. The Quibbler tells you all you need to know about Gloomilows and how to get the best of them._

 _Gloomilows, also commonly known as Bluedrags, are extremely small, invisible fungi. They cling to buildings and people alike and feast on magical energy. This makes the infected feel down and bleary, causes a lack of drive and enthusiasm and often a perpetual bad mood. However, as a positive side effect, their waste products make the radiation of a person's magical aura visible and reveal its specific colour. It is believed that the aura of the victim in the first documented case of a Bluedrag infection happened to be blue, which gave the condition its misleading name. The fact that Gloomilows make people blue (or, for that matter, pink, yellow, green or any other colour) is interestingly well-known also in the muggle world. Even non-magical people have been heard saying things like 'she's got the blues' to describe the condition – although it is doubtful that they are actually able to see the coloured aura._

 _Although Gloomilows can spread from person to person, it is unlikely that a single infected person in your vicinity will give you the blues. As a matter of fact, Gloomilows become attuned to the energy of their particular host and only spread if they find a matching climate in someone else. However, in circumstances of mass infection as observed in Hogwarts, chances of catching them from someone else increase exponentially. It is also possible to catch them simply from living in an infested place for a long time._

 _A Gloomilow infection is a severe condition and a risk for your health, and should not be treated lightly! Apart from turning latent melancholy to profound sadness and unhappiness, dragging the infected further and further down, victims are running the risk of losing their magic. The sooner it is treated, the better. Once the aura has taken on a deep, rich and saturated colour, healing will be a long process. Thankfully, there are some measures you can take if you are infected:_

 _ **1\. Spend time with people whose auras balance yours**_

 _Gloomilows are highly sensitive to astral radiation that runs contrary to the radiation of their given environment. So find a person whose aura has a colour of the opposing spectrum and spend as much time with them a you can. If he's also infected, finding each other is relatively easy, provided you are able to see the colour of his aura (if you can't, you might be suffering from after-effects of a Common Whotnit infection, which sadly are ever-lasting). Maybe someone else can point out such a person to you. It is the surest method to heal, even if the person is not infected himself. Otherwise, you will heal each other. People with opposing auras generally have a high chance of making each other happy, which is why people have been known to purposely get themselves infected with Gloomilows to find what they believe is their soul mate. (Please note that Gloomilows do not reveal soul mates – only Flimflumbies can do that, so we strongly advise against purposely getting infected)._

 _ **2\. Try to think at least two positive thoughts per day**_

 _You might want to put them down in writing and read through the ones already pinned down from previous days. This refills some of the energy you lost to the Gloomilows. Once you start feeling better, you may even go for a higher number. This is also a good pre-emptive measure._

 _ **3\. Clean your house**_

 _If you can't move, fight the infection of the building. Colouring the walls in a light, cheerful colour (ideally pink) has proved helpful. Keep the rooms clean at all times. As it is hard to tell which parts are infected, clean everything. This will also keep you busy, which is helpful in your condition. Beware, however of getting obsessed! It is advisable to purposely create a mess about once a month, which can actually be a lot of fun._

 _ **4\. Read joke books, buy good joke products and throw a party**_

 _Laughing is extremely helpful. The vibrations make Gloomilows dizzy. Laughter is also an excellent disinfectant for infested buildings. Though it has not yet been scientifically confirmed, Gloomilows seem to dislike happy sounds of any kind, so singing, listening to someone singing badly, making music or throwing a party can also help. But do not overdo it! Excessive happiness from uninfected people can have adverse effects on you if you've got the 'blues'._

 _ **5 Dress in light colours**_

 _Preferably in pink or anything with glitter. For indiscernible reasons, Gloomilows don't seem to like either. Avoid black, brown and maroon._

 _ **6\. Eat pudding**_

"Well, that explains it," Severus remarked drily, folding up the paper and shaking his head once more.

"Explains what?" Hermione asked.

"The strange conversation I had with Miss Lovegood when I asked her if she would consider becoming your roommate. She looked at me with those misty eyes of hers and told me in all seriousness that it'd be much better if you moved in with me, given that I was radiating purple, which would be good for you."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Seriously? How did you react?"

For a moment, he had only been able to stare at her in dumbfounded silence, struggling to control his features. His first reaction had been panic and concern – had she found out? Coming from any other person, he would immediately have taken the remark as an attempt at blackmail, but not from her. She probably had no idea of the concept. "I told her firmly that I wasn't giving off anything, and if I were, it surely wouldn't be purple."

"That was a rather mild reaction," Hermione remarked. "I would have expected you to find that such an outrageous and rather cheeky suggestion merited at least a detention."

"It wouldn't have fazed her." He had also tried sarcasm and insults before, but she was completely immune to any kind of maliciousness. Whatever he said, she would accept it with a dreamy expression and look at him as if she in her wisdom knew things he did not. "Nothing can unsettle Miss Lovegood. Believe me, I tried. Besides, what she suggested after that was even more outrageous."

"What did she say?"

"She told me I should stop wearing black all the time and try pink instead. Gloomilows don't like it."

Hermione nearly doubled over with laughter when she tried to imagine this conversation. "Oh, to think that she actually got away with that! And you constantly accuse _me_ of being cheeky!"

"Well, admittedly, I was bribed. Miss Lovegood made me a scarf for Christmas in her second year."

"She gave you a Christmas present?"

"Yes. It was fluffy and baby-pink, heavily adorned with glittering snakes that merrily moved around on it. I guess I finally understand what she intended." At the time, he had been absolutely shocked – firstly about the fact that a student would bother to give him something for Christmas, and even more so after he had removed the wrapping. He had instantly suspected that it was meant to be a bad joke or that the snakes would attack him any moment. But thorough examination had revealed that the scarf was hideous, but harmless. He had never understood why she had given it to him, but he was certain that, in her strange way, it had been a well-meant gesture. Miss Lovegood didn't have a single malicious bone in her body. It was his remembrance of this fact that had made him clear his throat and answer her advice with all the civility he could muster: _'Thank you, Miss Lovegood. But I'm afraid, pink isn't my colour, either.'_ Yes, he could be nice if he bothered to make the effort.

"Just out of curiosity: What happened to the scarf?"

He shrugged. "I still have it. I understand that you are supposed to cherish well-meant gifts, even if they're dead ugly." The truth was that he had cherished it. He hadn't gotten a lot of presents in his life, and the mere gesture had touched him. Though he had still shoved the scarf into the far back of the lowest drawer in his wardrobe so he didn't have to look at it.

Hermione looked at the Quibbler in her hands and shook her head. "Too bad. Apart from having had to deal with Netherfairies and now with Gloomilows, I seem to also have had a Common Whotnit infection at some point, given that I can't see auras. Luna would like to know what her own colour is – she thinks she might be suffering from a mild case of Bluedrags herself. She suspects it's a fluffy candy-pink, but, of course, she can't know for sure, as you can't see your own aura in a mirror."

"So Miss Lovegood feels depressed, too? I thought you said she appeared rather – serene?"

"She does. According to her theory, she's not so badly affected because Gloomilows don't seem to like the colour of her aura – which is why she thinks it must be pink. She says it would match nicely with Neville's lime-green. But then – maybe she's been spared having nightmares thanks to the plate of milk she puts under her bed every evening, for the Weapknats. Luna claims you can't have bad dreams if you draw them to your bedside."

"Of course not," Severus agreed with a solemn voice. "That's actually common knowledge in the wizarding world, Miss Granger. Every loving mother puts a plate of milk underneath her offspring's bed at night. I thought you knew, otherwise I'd have suggested you try this first, before going through the trouble of teaching you Occlumency."

Hermione wasn't sure if he was being especially sarcastic or actually serious. "Well, it wouldn't have worked anyway. I know for sure that it's Crookshanks who takes care of the milk as soon as the lights go out. So it must be Luna's pink aura that's helping her, not the Weapknats."

"I've never quite been able to decide if Miss Lovegood is intriguing or just a nutcase."

"Me neither. But you can't deny that she often sees things that other people don't," Hermione said in a more serious tone. "She obviously believes that we're good for each other. I totally agree with her on that. And she thinks that Harry and Draco should spend more time together for the same reason. She told me that his red and Harry's hunter green also match nicely."

Severus gave her a bemused look. "Harry's green and Draco's red?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes. Luna found it funny, too."

He snorted. "Nutcase, then."

"Actually, I think she's exceptionally perceptive. I mean – think about it: Their almost instant enmity, their constant bickering and the mutual provocations... It's said that love and hate are closely related. Your relationship with Harry supports the theory."

"I certainly don't love Harry Potter, Miss Granger!"

"Well, I didn't mean it literally. But you always felt strongly about him. You said it was loathing, but we both know that's not entirely true. Sometimes, strong negative emotions can hide something else – you said so yourself."

"And what do you think might it be that was always hidden by their mutual dislike? Attraction? Do you mean to tell me that Harry harbours romantic feelings for Draco, or that Draco might reciprocate them?"

"Do you think it's impossible? As far as I know, Draco has never had a girlfriend."

"God beware!"

"Does it matter to you? That at least one of your godsons cares for his own gender more than for the opposite one?"

"I wouldn't care if both of them cared for hippogriffs more than anything else. But I surely hope they'll not start something with each other!"

"Why ever not? There would be such a nice symmetry to it – both being your godsons, one dark, one blond, one exceptionally well groomed, the other one with hair sticking in all directions, both of them young and handsome... Visually speaking, they'd make a striking couple."

"Lucius would have a mental breakdown," Severus remarked. "It's too bad we won't be able to witness his reaction, if Miss Lovegood's theories should ever prove right."

Draco's parents had both gone into exile after Voldemort's defeat. They didn't dare lay their fate in the hand of the Wizengamot. Their efforts on behalf of 'the Light' had been half-hearted at best, and they couldn't count on the favour of the judges. They had gotten away without repercussions for their involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named too often, and the ministry was eager to show resolve and rigidity this time around. Supposedly, the Malfoys had fled to France, leaving their mansion and a large part of their money to Draco.

"So you think it's possible?"

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Draco doesn't discuss matters of the heart with me. But... judging what I know about him... no, it's not entirely impossible."

"In that case, I'm pretty sure Harry would be interested."

Severus pensively ran a finger along his lips. So Draco was the love interest he had heard them talk about in her memory... Interesting. "Don't you dare tell Potter about my speculations regarding Draco!"

"I won't," she promised, her gaze following his finger. His lips weren't as thin as commonly thought. When not pressed into a hard line, they were actually nicely shaped. Smooth and supple, she mused, not fleshy. Who wanted fleshy lips in a man anyway? His had felt really good against hers...

Severus abruptly lowered his hand when he realised that she was staring at his mouth as if spellbound. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Now, if we have quite finished discussing all your dunderhead friends and their love lives, can we move on to something of relevance and discuss how we are going to schedule our meetings for brewing and those Occlumency lessons?" he asked brusquely.

"Of course, Sir," she said dutifully. "What are you suggesting?"

He gave her the options that would work best with his timetable and they agreed on times and dates, and worked out what potions she would be brewing and which essays she'd help him correct.

"I need your wand to link it into my wards. That way, you'll be able to enter the Potions lab even if I'm absent."

"Will it take long?" She looked hesitant to part with her wand.

"Just a minute."

She nodded with relief and handed him her wand, which he eyed with interest.

"Is this new? I remember yours looking different..."

"Yes," she said wistfully. "I never got it back. Most likely, Bellatrix destroyed it."

"Why do I get the feeling that you are unhappy with your new wand?"

"Because I am. I really liked my old one. It was smooth, sure and powerful. The new one's performance seems a bit erratic. I'm still struggling with it."

He frowned. That was not supposed to happen. "Struggling in what way?"

"It's hard to describe. I have the feeling that my magical performance is weaker. But the main issue is about reliability."

"Hm... What kind of wood is it?"

"Beech. Reasonably supple. Twelve and a half inches. According to Ollivander, it's associated with learning and knowledge. It's said to be good for research and the Logical Arts Of Magic, particularly Ancient Runes, and, ironically, Divination."

"Very fitting," he remarked without a trace of sarcasm.

She looked at him askance. "You're joking!"

"Actually no. Forget about Divination. We can reasonably assume that in your case, it stands for logic. Beech favours those who are strong-willed and strong of character." Again, he wondered why the wand was giving her trouble. Beech wands were known to be performing weakly if their owner was narrow-minded, which definitely wasn't the case with her. Which made him wonder if this had to do with her wand at all or if it was another indication for a slight instability in her magic. "What's the core?"

"That's the curious part. It has Dragon Heartstring, like my old wand, but it also has Thestral Hair."

"A dual core?" he asked, surprised. Dual core wands were extremely rare.

"Yes. Mr. Ollivander was surprised, too. He doesn't make many of those."

"Indeed. It's quite exceptional. But then, beech is rather uncommon, too. – Let's see..." He got up and perused the bookshelf behind him, eventually taking out the tome he'd been looking for. _'The Witch's Wand: The Craft, Lore, and Magick of Wands & Staffs by Alferian Gwydion_.'

"You have books on wandlore?"

"I'm interested in a variety of subjects. Besides, Dumbledore and I did a lot of reading to find out more about the Elder Wand. Did you know that the core of the Elder Wand is actually Thestral Hair?"

"No... It's kind of fitting though, I guess, for a wand labelled 'Death Stick'.

"It's said that Thestral Hair wands can only be mastered by wizards or witches who are not afraid to face Death. Another reason why the Dark Lord had trouble with the Elder Wand. It's capable of powerful magic – if the wielder has an understanding of himself. Otherwise, his spells will suffer."

He skimmed the pages, finally finding the page referring to beech wands. "Interesting, Miss Granger," he said, smirked and cited: ' _The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience.'_ – A good match for a know-it-all. It seems as if I was right to call you that."

"You're probably better at divination than you think, too."

"Hardly. I've just had years of practice studying the mysterious workings of the minds of children and teenagers. Now, Dragon Heartstring, as you surely remember stands for power, wisdom and devotion. Listen: _'Having such a wand core suggests that you can be bossy at times, but also have a fiery disposition and have firm convictions, which will lead you down the road to leadership, as well as being devoted and selfless.'_ " That surely fitted the old Miss Granger perfectly. He wondered what the Thestral Hair had added to that. He found the relevent page and skimmed it, then summarised the important parts for her. "Hm, interesting, indeed. Thestral Hair, just like Dragon Heartstring, is suited for wizards and witches who show strong-mindedness, compassion and wisdom. But whereas Dragon Heartstring is often also associated with boldness, fierceness and ambitiousness, Thestral Hair cores favour more – shall we say – 'feminine' qualities in its wielder, like perceptiveness, loyalty, caring and gentleness."

"Really?" she asked, looking surprised. "I didn't know that."

"You're telling me you didn't immediately look it up?" He would have bet that it was the first think she had done, especially if the wand gave her trouble. The fact that she hadn't was decidedly odd.

"I was afraid it might be something gloomy," she admitted. "Something related to death and loss and sadness."

"Because you only can see Thestrals if you have seen Death?"

She nodded. She had feared that the added Thestral Hair core was testament to how broken she was... a proof that something deep within her had died, or at least withered. The information she had just been given made perfect sense. What had died was her determination, her drive, her ambition.

"Despite their rather sinister appearance, Thestrals are actually gentle creatures. Herd animals, intelligent and loyal, though they can be fierce, too. I think the dual core is giving you options, Miss Granger."

"Options?" She looked at him quizzically. Obviously, he had come to an entirely different conclusion.

"Indeed. You still have all the potential for great achievements that you had before, as supported by the Dragon Heartstring. But the Thestral Hair also supports those who chose a less ambitious, less boisterous path. Here, listen to this: ' _You can be an incredibly driven and ambitious person when you set your mind to it, but you will often be content with a simple life and simple pleasures. You are often wise beyond your years, even at a young age._ ' He lowered the book and looked at her with great solemnity. "I believe you have found a good match in your new wand, Miss Granger. Your problems with it probably stem in part from your own reluctance regarding the Thestral Hair. Don't fear it – embrace what it offers."

What he didn't tell her was that Thestral Hair wands were known to perform weakly for those who had lost themselves. He didn't think she was lost – just a bit thrown off track at the moment.

Hermione sat pondering all this new information while he performed a few charms on her wand. If she had had the courage to search for information on the Thestral Hair herself, she could have reconciled with her new wand sooner. Before the war, she wouldn't have hesitated. Why was she so insecure now?

She hadn't realised that she had voiced the question aloud until he answered. "You had a lot to deal with. The experiences you made left scars, not just physical ones."

"So many people suffered really bad things. Compared to most of them, I came out relatively unscathed."

"And what happened at Malfoy Manor?"

She shifted uncomfortably and averted her gaze. "Well, I suppose you can't go to war and expect to come out without a scar or two. I survived, while many other didn't. I should be happy and grateful and enjoy life now that it's no longer overshadowed by Voldemort. But I don't know how to do that. There's an emptiness to everything that wasn't there before. I can't describe it."

"Of course you feel emptiness. The Dark Lord was a dominant factor in all our lives, and his existence defined our actions. With him gone, so has this purpose."

"That still doesn't justify feeling like I do most of the time... scared, jumpy, depressed, adrift. It's understandable for people like Lavender, after what Greyback did to her... She'll never be the same. Her scars cannot even be hidden under buttoned sleeves. Greyback was there, at the Manor. It could have been me, too."

He gave her an incredulous look. "And because you haven't actually been raped, bitten or left with visible scars by Greyback, but just narrowly escaped that fate you think you don't deserve the right to be traumatised by the experience?"

"I just mean that there's no logical reason for me to start losing it now. We all suffered. You probably suffered most. And yet here you are – doing your job, getting on with your life without having panic attacks or nightmares. You moved on."

"You take _me_ as an example for someone living, coping and moving on?" He snorted. "There's more to life than functioning, Miss Granger. Or so I've been told."

"Yes, there should be. And yet, at the moment, it seems to be all I'm capable of: Breathing, getting up every morning, eating, doing what is expected for the day... But I have no idea what to do with my life. I can't imagine my future. I came back here simply because I didn't know what else to do, because I had no other place to go and because I longed for some familiarity after all the madness."

Yes, that pretty much mirrored his own motives. He had come back because otherwise, he would have felt that he had left Hogwarts defeated. This chapter of his life deserved a different kind of closure. But so far, he hadn't made any plans either. Except for trying to fulfil his mission, he hadn't ever had plans for his life. But he could see why she found that unsettling. She, who had always had plans and schedules, now found herself drifting, without the courage or the energy to make decisions. "You're not the only one who feels that way," he told her, again revealing more to her than he would ever have imagined. "Just consider this year a time out. I know I do. Time to deal with what has happened, find a new purpose. It will come back to you, just give yourself time. You don't have to decide anything now."

She smiled. "For someone who thinks he doesn't know how to give advice, you're being awfully helpful. Thank you!"

"Well, I intend to make you helpful as well, so there's no need to thank me," he said rather curtly, feeling slightly uncomfortable at her praise. He wasn't used to be thanked for anything, and she made a disconcerting habit out of it.

"Here... you're going to need this." He held out a red quill. "It's self-inking and charmed to mimic my handwriting – and my style. I can't have you go soft on my students."

Hermione took a piece of parchment and wrote down ' _I'm grateful for your help_ '. The letters immediately transformed into his unmistakable, spiky, but still oddly elegant handwriting and the sentence now read: ' _Your unsolicited efforts on my behalf have not gone unnoticed._ ' Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh, isn't that interesting..." she muttered, and gave it another try. _'I enjoy our conversations_ ' became ' _Listening to your chattering isn't quite as bothersome as I had expected'_ , and ' _I like you_ ' almost instantly read: ' _You're much less insufferable than the rest of the people I have to deal with._ '

"Oh – I'm going to have so much fun with this!" Hermione exclaimed, intrigued with her new toy. "Does it work vice versa? You know, translating Snape-coded speech back into its actual meaning?"

"Don't get cheeky with me again, Miss Granger!" her professor admonished, furling his brows. "I can always make you scrub cauldrons or the lab floor instead of letting you brew!"

"Ah, but that would be such a waste of my talents!" the witch replied, definitely cheekily, gathered her things and got up. "Here... just so you know..." She handed him the sheet of parchment on which she had tested his quill and had the nerve to wink at him. "I see you tomorrow, then!"

* * *

 _The citations about wandlore were taken from TUTORIAL 1: WANDS AND WAND CORES by Anna Brelin, which can be found here at fanfictin . net._

 _Information contained therein can also be found on other websites (like mischief managedhpwiz), which refers to Garrick Olivander. So I have reason to believe that most of it is actually Canon._

 _As to a potential relationship between Harry and Draco: I used Harry's coming-out rather spontaneously as an idea for his 'payment' to the Netherfairies. It didn't really play a role at that time. As I was stuck with it in this story, I thought that partnering him with Draco was the most logical and interesting thing to do. It won't be an important part of this story, however, so I hope you won't mind too much. Poor Ginny, though! I like Harry just as well with her! I should probably let her find a nice man to fall in love with, probably a muggle whose name happens to be Peter Potter. Arthur would be thrilled, and she could still give birth to Albus Severus Potter, so as not to mess up Ms. Rowling's follow-up stories completely. ;)_

 _Oh, and did I tell you that I absolutely love Luna?_


	7. Nightmares

Summary of Chapter Six – Wands, Whotnits and Weapknats

The Headmistress agrees to Severus' proposal that Hermione become his brewing assistant. When Hermione sees him to discuss the details of this partnership, she shows him an article Luna has written for the Quibbler. Luna is convinced that a mysterious illness has broken out in Hogwarts, brought about by invisible fungi which make people depressive. As a cure, infected people should have close contact to people with 'matching auras', which she believes applies to Severus and Hermione as well as to Draco and Harry.

Severus finds out that Hermione has trouble with her new wand because of the added core of Thestral Hair. She believe it to be a sign of the fact that she is damaged to some degree after the war. Severus disagrees and tells her that the wand is just giving her options.

He gives her a self-correcting quill which shall help her correct essays for him, as it imitates his hand-writing and style. Hermione leaves his office, giving him the experimental note she wrote with it, telling him in his own words how she feels about him. (Or, as Dreamthrower put it: 'She's passing notes after class')

 _A/N: As of this chapter, I'm going to change the rating, just to be on the safe side._

* * *

 **Nightmares**

That night, Hermione dreamed again. Her nightmare was familiar by now, which unfortunately didn't lessen its impact on her. All her fears, the horrible things she had seen and experienced, even the pain – they were all as tangible and real as they had been when they had first happened.

As so often occurred, it began at Malfoy Manor. Hermione found herself lying on the floor again, her entire body on fire. There wasn't a single cell in her body that wasn't consumed by raw, agonising, excruciating pain. All her muscles and sinews were screaming and contracting in protest, twisting her body into near-impossible positions on the floor and stretching the bones of her limbs to their breaking point. Surely she would pass out any minute now.

But she didn't. Just when she felt herself slipping away, the witch who was torturing her stopped the curse and started screaming at her again.

"I'm going to ask you one more time! Where did you get this sword? Where?"

"We found it – we found it – PLEASE!" Hermione could barely breathe. Yet she still had enough air to scream when Bellatrix yelled 'Crucio' for the third time. Or was it the fourth? Hermione had lost count. It was madness. The shrieking witch seemed out of her mind with rage, while the werewolf was watching her with barely concealed lust as she lay writhing and arching her back off the floor as if she was in ecstasy, not agony. This time, it was almost more than she could take. How much longer before she gave away all their secrets, just to make the pain stop? How much longer before she went insane?

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, I know it!'" Bellatrix shrieked. "Tell me the truth, tell me the truth!"

Once more, the dark curse was lifted to give her a chance to answer. She briefly opened her eyes and was blinded by sunlight that was reflected from the chandelier above her. The crystal ornaments looked like icicles. Hermione was lying in puddle of liquid, she wasn't sure if it was blood. If she concentrated enough, the burning sensation in her body almost felt like cold. If only she could go numb from it. Ice, ice, ice... Hermione tried to concentrate on the wall she had erected around her mind as soon as she had been brought into the room. If only she could retreat behind it and find shelter from the fire...

But the pain started again, the flames consumed her and made her scream. And then, all of a sudden, Hermione felt herself rise from her own body. This was it. She must be dying now. Curious, she noticed that the writhing had stopped, and so had the screams. Everything was silent, the body on the floor lay motionless now.

For a moment, she only felt relief. At least she wasn't in pain anymore. But strangely, the feeling of profound peace that she had expected with death didn't come, either. Instead, she felt dread, helplessness, and horror. Harry and Ron were at her side now, both frantic. Had they also died? And why was she still staring at her body, which was lying in a heap in front of her, a body she clearly no longer inhabited?

And yet the body suddenly started moving. She saw herself get up awkwardly, moving stiffly into an upright position, yet with her entire figure remaining hunched and her head held low. Harry and Ron were calling her name, they were concerned for her and reached out to her. 'No no no' she screamed. 'Don't go any closer – it isn't me! It's an Inferi!' But neither of them listened, they didn't even flinch when her curls turned black and her eyes wild. For a brief moment, before hair and features morphed back into her own, Hermione looked into her tormentor's face.

Horrified, Hermione could only stand and watch as Harry followed the beckoning Hermione-Inferi into another room. Ron stayed behind – his leg was suddenly broken, and he couldn't move.

Hermione screamed louder, she grabbed Harry by his sleeves, begging him not to go, not to follow that imposter who had stolen her body. But he didn't listen. He never did. The Inferi suddenly lifted her eyes, and Hermione froze with shock seeing that they had a reddish glint in them now, and more than a touch of madness. Every hair on her body stood on end. The impostor was going to kill Harry! But before Hermione had a chance to shout another warning, her body – or rather that of the other Hermione – suddenly cracked and split and was torn apart from inside. Something monstrous burst out of her ripped flesh, shedding what had been her body like dead skin. Hermione's stomach churned at the sight and she could feel bile rise in he throat, which prevented her from screaming a warning even now. Transfixed, Harry stared at the gigantic snake that was coming at him, jaws unhinged, its maw wide open, two fangs sharp as daggers bared. But before the monster could swallow him whole, another person suddenly appeared in the Shrieking Shack, stepping protectively in front of Harry and shoving him out of harm's way.

Harry stood beside her, and she dug her nails into his arm as the snake now attacked their Potions Professor. Again and again the dagger-like teeth tore into his throat until it was in shreds, bloods gushing from the wounds like a fountain, and he fell.

Now it was _his_ body that lay on the hardwood floor in a pool of blood. There was so much of it, soaking into the layer of dust that covered the old planks.

Hermione moved closer and found herself looking down at their professor, the one who'd belittled them and treated them with nothing but disdain, but who had always protected them. He had given everything, his life and his soul to the cause and nobody had ever known of his sacrifices. He, who had always stood alone, who everybody falsely called a traitor, now lay dying in a pool of his own blood, staring up at her with silvery tears leaking from his eyes. Blood was still gushing from the horrid wound in his neck. Instinctively, she cast a wordless skin healing spell. She had gotten pretty good at them – they'd had no one else to help them in the last couple of months. But using it now was ridiculous. Like trying to catch deluge in a paper cup. The spell efficiently knitted minor wounds and scratches, but it couldn't hold together what was left of his throat. And he had already lost so much blood. Besides, the thin layer of skin that stilled the blood flow also locked the deadly poison in his veins. He was already as pale as death. There was nothing she could do for him.

Her friends kept tugging on her arm, and she turned her back on the dying man. "Please," she heard him beg almost tonelessly; it was more a scratchy, rasping sound than a voice. And he used to have such a beautiful voice. She looked at him. His eyes were full of horror and fright, imploring her to do something, anything. All this time he had helped them, saved their lives, and now there wasn't anything she could do for him. She should at least sit down and stay with him until he was dead... Nobody should die alone, and he had been alone for far too long. But there wasn't enough time. She had more important things to do. Not able to deal with this, she averted her gaze.

"Please, help me! Don't leave me!" he pleaded, sounding broken and despairing. She threw her hand over her ears to block out his voice. Ignoring his tears, his pleas and his reproachful eyes she turned to leave once more.

Harry – she had to help Harry. She had to keep him alive, and Ron, and her parents – if she rushed, maybe she could save Fred... or Lavender... or Tonks. She couldn't save everybody. There were so many dead and maimed and hurt, and there was nothing she could do. She didn't know enough about healing spells to cast anything efficient, she had no idea what to do about Nagini's venom. Tears were streaming over her own face now as she started running, trying to get away from it all – the terror, the devastation, the carnage. If only she had studied some more, read books on more advanced healing techniques, maybe then she would know what to do... But she hadn't read enough. It was never enough. She was still helpless, still had to watch people die because she didn't know how to save them, still had to disappoint people who counted on her. No matter how hard she tried, in the end, she would fail them...

Crying, Hermione woke up and quickly turned her head into her cushion to stifle her sobs so as not to wake Luna. It always took her a while to truly find her way out of these nightmares and to separate real memories from the torturous imaginations of her overly active mind. This time, most parts of the dream had been real events, like what had happened in Godric's Hollow. In truth, Hermione had never seen Nagini come out of Bathilda Bagshot's resurrected body, but Harry had, and a few days after it had happened, he had shared the horrific moment with her. She hadn't been able to chase away the pictures ever since. Nagini had become a reoccurring feature in her nightmares, just as her professor's presumed death in the Shrieking Shack had.

It was also true that Hermione had left the dying man behind, although she truly had believed him dead at the time. He hadn't pleaded with her, though. He hadn't been able to. In reality, he hadn't bled quite as excessively as in her dream. As if that made it any better. She still hadn't done anything substantial to help him, except casting that minor skin knitting spell which had been nothing more than a well-meaning gesture.

Most of her nightmare had mirrored the real events. Sometimes, that wasn't the case. Sometimes, worse things happened in her dreams, when her fears and her imagination were running wild, torturing her with 'might have beens' and illustrating a fate she had narrowly escaped.

But no, it wouldn't do to think of that now... she'd only cause herself to have another panic attack. Instead, she took a few deep breaths, willing herself to calm down and stop crying. She was relatively successful with stopping her sobbing – those months in the tent had taught her to cry pretty much silently. But as if to compensate for the forced lack of sound, it always took a long while for her tears to stop flowing.

Hermione sat up and slipped into her thick, furry slippers. She would sneak into the kitchen and ask a house-elf for a cup of hot milk and honey. It was what her mother had always prepared for her when she had woken from a nightmare as a child, and Hermione still found the ritual comforting.

It was pointless to try and go back to sleep now, anyway. She'd be restless for hours to come. Careful to move as noiselessly as possible, she put on her Kimono-style morning robe and slipped her wand into its pocket. The dressing gown had been a gift from her parents. They hadn't known that it was a little inadequate for a place like Hogwarts. Wool would have been much more serviceable than the beautiful silk, but Hermione cherished it nonetheless.

Quietly she closed the door behind her. It was a long walk from her new room to the kitchen, especially since Hermione avoided the dark, inner corridors which were lined with portraits. They gave her the creeps – she could always feel invisible eyes watching her, and it took all her willpower not to draw her wand and throw random hexes. She tried to stick to the hallways that had windows as much as possible, even if it meant taking a detour. With the moonlight falling in through them and painting everything in a glowing, silvery light those could have been quite atmospheric. But the incoming light also cast long shadows, and combined with the silence in the deserted corridors, the overall effect was somewhat eery.

She wasn't particularly at ease walking around alone by night, but the prospect of a warm fire in the kitchen, where some of the house-elves – the ones Hermione had come to think about as the 'night shift' – were still hustling about was too alluring. She wanted some company right now, and the house-elves would do just fine.

So she focussed her thoughts on that and silently hurried through the corridors. She stiffened when she suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Freezing, she turned her back to the wall, her hand going to her wand in her pocket. Her heart was hammering in her chest, even though she knew it was probably just Filch, who was an insomniac. But it didn't sound like Filch's rather shuffling gate. This person's footsteps were lighter, yet more determined, and the light that was nearing the corner was not the yellowish tint of Filches oil lamp, but the bluish tinted light that came from the tip of a wand. And much sooner than Filch's feet would have carried him over to where she stood frozen at the wall, the light was on her, blinding her.

"Miss Granger?"

The breath she had held escaped from her throat with a sigh of relief. "Professor Snape!"

He lowered the tip of his wand a bit so it was no longer shining straight in her face.

"What are you doing out in the hallways at such an hour?" he inquired, sounding very much like Professor Snape sounded when catching a student out after curfew. Until his eyes widened slightly and a frown appeared on his forehead. Not the angry frown, but the one that he showed when he felt surprise or concern. "Have you been crying?"

Hermione self-consciously wiped her eyes, remembering her dream, and how she had left him to die on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, covered in his own blood, helpless, in agony and all alone. Much to her embarrassment, she felt her tears flowing again.

"I'm sorry..." she said, now knowing what exactly she was apologising for. For being caught out after curfew, for crying like a girl in front of him again or for not helping him when he had needed her.

He was confused about that as well. "What exactly for?"

She pulled her shoulders up in a gesture of uncertainty and discomfort. "I.. I had a nightmare."

Understanding dawned on his face. "I see."

"I was on my way to the kitchen for a cup of hot milk and... some company."

He pondered that for a second, than determinedly gestured her to follow him. "Well then, move along. I'll accompany you there. Students are not supposed to prowl the hallways at night. It's a rule, Miss Granger. And though you have a hard time accepting this fact, they apply even to you."

She found it quite fascinating how he managed to sound so stern and forbidding even when doing something kind. Was that why people never noticed? Did they pay attention only to his words and not his actions? Did they just see his frown and never bother to find out what it meant? How easy they were to deceive...

Hermione instantly felt safe and much more at ease now that he was around. Just seeing him move and breathe softened the horror of her dream, offering visible proof of the fact hat he was alive, that his gruesome death hadn't been real.

Her professor tickled the pear on the portrait that lead to the kitchen. Funny, how even that gesture seemed untypical and out-of-place with him. Hermione wondered why that was – probably, she decided, because he seemed so self-aware when he did anything he wouldn't usually be seen doing in class – which was basically everything apart from pacing, sneering, frowning and scolding.

The door slipped open and they entered the huge kitchen with the four long tables that mirrored those in the Great Hall above. The elves of the night shift briefly looked up, but once they saw the professor, all but one turned their attention back to their tasks. As Hermione knew from previous expeditions to the kitchen, those seemed to comprise polishing the silver, folding napkins, ironing table cloths or putting candles into candelabras.

She and her professor sat down at the table near the fireplace and asked the elf who obviously felt responsible for them for a cup of tea and a glass of hot milk.

"With honey, please," Hermione added. "Thank you!"

In no time, two cups stood before them, and Severus pulled his chair aside so that he was facing her. He stretched his legs, put his elbow on the table and propped up his chin. It was the most relaxed pose she had ever seen him assume, and it somehow gave her the impression that it wasn't all that unusual for him to be sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, either.

"Why are _you_ up at this hour if it wasn't nightmares that left you sleepless?" she inquired, not able to rein in her curiosity. Teachers did patrol the corridors to make sure students respected curfew, but only for an hour or two – not at almost three in the morning.

"It's a full moon," he just said, as if that was an explanation. Hermione threw him a questioning glance.

"After two incidents that involved Lupin but no Wolfsbane Potion, I find myself rather incapable of finding rest until the moon sets," he explained with a sigh. "The only thing that calms me is passing by his door and hearing him yip and yelp."

"Oh. Yes, I can imagine why you would feel that way..." Two near-death experiences certainly justified his concerns about having a werewolf in the castle. That he made sure that it was safely in its quarters instead of locking himself away in his own was testament to his protective streak.

"Now you know what haunts my sleepless nights..." he said, watching her take a sip from her cup. "Do you want to talk about what keeps haunting yours?"

Not really. She preferred not to even think about it, but that had never stopped her dreams from coming back before. Maybe if she told him, if she voiced the terror and the guilt she had felt for failing him... He had already given her his absolution once: the night she had come to him in his office. They had only briefly spoken about what had happened in the Shrieking Shack, and when she had tried to apologise, he had immediately dismissed her guilt as unfounded. They hadn't really discussed it. But maybe if he recognised her guilt and absolved her from it, it would spare her having to watch him die all over again tomorrow night or any night after.

"The nightmare – it was about you..." she answered before she had even consciously formed the decision to tell him at all, and when his eyebrows rose in surprise, it all came rushing out of her.

She retold her dream beginning the moment she had found herself in the Shrieking Shack. She still couldn't deal with talking about Malfoy Manor. Even after eight months, the memory was too fresh, like the scars on her arm which she kept just as carefully covered. But the memory which haunted her almost as much as Bellatrix and Greyback was that of the snake attacking him, about the blood, her inability to deal with the situation and the silent pleas she had left unanswered. He didn't interrupt her, just listened, but once, his eyebrow rose even higher in what seemed to be utter astonishment.

Only when she had finished and reached for her cup to moisten her suddenly dry throat, he finally spoke. "Well, Miss Granger, it seems I find myself indebted to you."

"What?" Hermione lowered her cup in surprise. "Haven't you listened?"

"I have. But as you said, it was a dream, and some of it didn't happen that way. I never begged you to stay. Surely you know I wouldn't have done so even if I had been conscious at the end. I would have told you to hurry up and help Potter with his task. I knew I was going to die when the Dark Lord started talking about the wand. I was prepared to die. But you... not only did you have the presence and the means at hand to save my mission... you also saved _me_."

"No. I walked away from you."

"Only after you had every reason to believe that I was already dead, after you had managed to secure my memories in those phials. I would have died knowing that at least the-boy-who-had-to-sacrifice-himself would receive Dumbledore's message, even though I had little hope that he would survive his encounter with the Dark Lord without the Elder Wand."

"You still hadn't realised that Draco had long since lost the mastery of the wand to Harry?"

"No. Otherwise I wouldn't have pleaded so desperately with the Dark Lord to let me find the boy. After Voldemort had disarmed me, I was sure I had failed utterly and completely. I welcomed death at that point, Miss Granger. Surely you, of all people, understand why I felt that way."

Yes, she did. He must have felt just like she had for being unable to save him – or any of her friends who had died that night: Filled with horror, helplessness and survivor's guilt. Knowing him so much better now than before, she also knew that these feelings of shame and inadequacy would have been many times stronger in him. Not being able to fulfil the task he'd been given and thus being unable to safe the life of the boy whose survival had been his only motivation for years and years – he would have felt like a complete and utter failure. Who would want to live like that? How could anyone live feeling like that?

"And yet I didn't die," he continued. "I never really understood how I was saved."

"You said it was Draco who saved you. And the anti-venom you had been taking for a long while..."

"Yes, but none of that would have mattered if I had bled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack with those gaping holes in my neck, which by all reason I should have. I had already lost a fair amount of blood, but then the wounds closed somehow. I never understood – I had no wand and I was in no state to perform wandless magic, not even a minor healing charm. But now I know what saved my life – you did. You cast the skin-knit spell on me, non-verbally, at that."

"Yes, I did. But the spell only grows a very thin layer of tissue over a wound – just enough to keep out dirt while it heals. It's not strong enough for anything as serious as those wounds on your neck. It can't have held for more than a few minutes."

"It didn't. But those few minutes were enough for Draco to come and find me. He apparated me straight to St. Mungo's and left me in the care of the one healer who he knew for sure would do everything in his power to save my life, even knowing I was a Death Eater. Just like you did. You saved me. If not for you casting that spell, I would have bled out before Draco came for me. You have nothing, absolutely nothing to feel guilty about."

Hermione could only stare at him in silence for a moment. Her pitiful spell had in fact saved him? Had she really managed to save at least one person during the battle?

"And you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

He raised his eyebrow in disbelief. "In all those years you've had me as a teacher - have I ever been known for doing such a thing?"

Not really. But he hadn't been known for being nice, for being helpful or for being sympathetic, either. And yet, here he was...

"Well, I just had to make sure it's not just part of this new and improved you..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Granger! There is no 'new me'." Her professor resolutely put his cup down and got up. "Now, if you have quite finished your milk, we'd better get back to our rooms and get some sleep. We both have classes tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir!" Hermione obediently stood up, too, and followed him out of the kitchen. The cool of the castle hit her as soon as they left the vicinity of the warming fire. It had started snowing just the day before, and Hermione's Kimono did nothing to protect her from the moist and cold air in the draughty corridors. Severus noticed her shivering and sighed.

"If you plan on keeping up these nightly visits to the kitchen, Miss Granger, I suggest you invest in a warmer dressing gown. I can't stand sneezing and sniffling students in my classes, even less so in my lab or in my office." Again, his harsh words were completely contrasted by the fact that he took off his own robe and wrapped it firmly around her shoulders. It carried his body heat, and Hermione was reminded of her Occlumency lesson, when he had first penetrated her mind. She was enveloped in warmth. As an added bonus, the surprisingly thick and soft material was saturated with his scent – a combination of herbs, woodsmoke and man. For someone whose hygiene had always been put into question, he smelled amazing. Well, Hermione had never believe the rumours that he was hydrophobic in the first place. The fact that she detected a lingering hint of soap when she turned her nose into her shoulder proved the theory wrong, too. If it was the soap that made him smell like this, she wanted a piece of it for herself. Or she'd have to find a way to keep the robe for a while. Surely, he had a spare one and wouldn't miss this one too badly?

"Thank you!" she said, with a hint of a guilty conscience. He was being nice, and here she was, planning thievery.

"Don't thank me yet again, Miss Granger, it's getting tiresome. Besides, I'm merely trying to lower the risk of myself getting infected, and it seems that my chances improve vastly if _you_ wear this. I have a few more ounces of warming fat on my body than you do."

Sure! Hermione hid her smile and didn't respond. Just to make sure that she wouldn't catch a cold and pass it on to him, she didn't take off his robe when she slipped back into bed a little while later.

For the remainder of the night, she slept soundly and peacefully.


	8. Occlumency the Second

Summary of Chapter Seven – Nightmares

Hermione has another nightmare of being tortured at Malfoy Manor, of being attacked by Nagini at Godric's Hollow and of Severus dying in the Shrieking Shack. Too wrought up to go back to sleep, she heads for the kitchen, but runs into Severus on her way. He accompanies her, and Hermione tells him part of her dream, hoping that he will absolve her from the guilt she still feels. More than that, Severus realises that it was Hermione who had cast a non-verbal healing spell to stop his bleeding at the time, which probably kept him alive until Draco found him and saved him.

When escorting her back to her room, he gives her his robe, seeing that she is freezing in her thin dressing gown. Hermione instantly loves it, not because of its warmth and softness but because it smells like him. She is determined to not part with it any time soon.

 _A/N: I'm still on vacation, but after all your encouraging reviews I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. Special thanks to OodWhovian for her four comments and 'Guest', who left a very sweet review which I unfortunately cannot answer to via PM. Thanks to all of you who read, favor and review, too, and to my dear friend Dreamthrower who's still busy correcting the chapters to come. You're great!_

* * *

 **Occlumency the Second**

Hermione and her professor met again for another lesson in Occlumency the following evening. Neither of them mentioned their midnight encounter. Hermione didn't bring it up for fear that he would ask about his robe, which he didn't. He obviously had forgotten all about it.

The only reference he made to the fact that they had both slept very little the night before was to ask her if she felt rested enough for him to use Legilimency on her again. Obviously, he really was concerned about draining her reserves too much, which Hermione thought exaggerated. It hadn't been as exhausting as he made it out to be, and she told him so.

"You didn't even suffer a headache?" he inquired sceptically.

"No, I'm fine," she reassured him. "I didn't feel any pain at all, neither while you were legilimising me, nor afterwards. In fact, apart from the strangeness of feeling another's presence in my mind, it felt rather nice."

To say that Severus was astonished by her revelation was putting it mildly. Never had he heard someone describe the invasion of his mind as 'feeling rather nice'. He had only ever had the Dark Lord and Dumbledore rummage around in his head, and though Dumbledore had clearly been the more considerate of the two, neither experience had been painless.

"Well, I chose not to try and overcome your barrier with brute force," he tried an explanation. "Believe me, you'd feel differently if I had. But as firm as your wall of ice looked at first glance, it was easy to circumvent, even if it required an unusual approach. Furthermore, I didn't go in very deep or start digging for a particular memory. I just slipped behind your shields and let them come at me. Do you remember what those memories were that you freely offered to me – and why?"

She nodded. "To pass my shield, you projected warmth, which made the wall melt. The feelings you projected called similar emotions to the forefront of my mind."

"Very good, Miss Granger. An 'O' for your understanding of the theory. Yes, that's the easiest method for a Legilimens to use – projecting a thought or an emotion or pushing an image at you and waiting to see what comes up. Of course, the idea is to not answer such a request for information."

"So I'm not to use the ice wall again?"

"It's rather useless now that I know how to melt it, isn't it? Don't forget, Miss Granger, this is not about keeping me out of your mind – you can't – it's about not letting me see what you don't wish me to see."

Hermione pondered that for a moment. What else to use as a shield? She knew that brick walls didn't work, and everything else she came up with spontaneously seemed equally easy to blast. He had told Harry repeatedly to empty his mind... it shouldn't show anything, and whatever information he asked for, it should come up blank. But how can something blank serve as a shield? Not keeping him out, but hindering him to see?

The picture of an empty canvas suddenly came to her mind and she clung to that. It probably wasn't the answer either, but she couldn't think of anything better right now. "Okay, I'll try something else, then."

"Ready?"

"As ready as I can hope to be."

"Very well, then..." He lowered the tip of his wand to her temple and softly said: "Legilimens!"

This time, he found himself standing in front of a wide, blank surface. It wasn't a wall, and it wasn't ice, either. It almost looked like an endless clothesline full of pristine linen sheets. Interesting. He conjured up a mental wind, just a breeze to start with, to see what would happen. The cloth started flapping and bulged, but otherwise stayed in place, firmly held on all sides. So this was more like standing in front of a huge screen. The cloth was firm, but certainly not resistant to tearing. However, he found himself reluctant to tear or cut his way in. He examined the fabric closely, looking at each individual thread, searching for a weak spot or a hole he could pick at. He found it easily enough. With just a little tugging and prodding, a thread came loose, and he only had to pull for the fabric to come undone. The material fell apart, allowing him to slip behind the sheet.

Once again, he found himself standing on the threshold of her mind, which now stretched before him like endless rows of further white screens. He was fairly impressed with her visualisation. Potter hadn't even come close to emptying his mind like this. But as effective as she was in keeping it clear of images, she wasn't equally successful in keeping it clear of emotions. They were as tangible as last time, and just as suffocating.

The predominant emotion was one of unease and anxiety, which, at first, he attributed to their current situation of him invading her mind. But then he realised that the opposite was true: The anxiety had been there before – his presence, quite to the contrary, was perceived as a source of calm and comfort. It confused him momentarily and almost threw him off track. Her fear was too thick and tangible, however, to completely lose hold of it.

The strongest unease seemed to originate from recent experiences and a lingering sense of danger. He latched on to that, as it seemed the most dominant and thus easiest to follow emotion, and immediately came upon memories that clearly were war-related. She still feared finding herself in the hands of Death Eaters again, being captured and tortured, being helpless. He caught brief glimpses of Bellatrix and Greywolf in her memories and quickly turned away from them to pursue a different stream of consciousness. Those were memories neither he nor she would want to revisit. He was sure that they often featured in her nightmares, just like the events in the Shrieking Shack, and he didn't wish to see those either.

This time, he concentrated on the less sharp-edged kind of anxiety which he was able to identify as her fear of making decisions – something he wouldn't have expected to find in an always reasonable, resolute girl like her. He saw images and memories of the last year flicker by, when she and both her friends had been out hunting Horcruxes, trying to fulfil the almost impossible mission the headmaster had given them. And he found confirmed what he had always suspected: For the longest time, she had been the one holding everything together. As Dumbledore had once put it, she had been the voice of reason, the brain of the Golden Trio, whom her dunderhead friends always expected to have all the answers. They had come up with the half-baked ideas, but it had been her job to turn them into executable plans, to decide how to proceed best, to somehow make their crazy schemes work. She had carried a large part of the responsibility, as her friends relied on her good sense and her vast knowledge. And all the while, she had staggered under the burden, had constantly questioned herself and doubted her own counsel, feared that she had been wrong and would lead them all into doom.

And there, entwined in those memories of weeks spent in a tent, always hungry, cold and depressed, he found another aspect of her fear, something that ran deeper even than the fears brought on by the war. When he tried to examine it more closely, he could sense her trying to fight him off. Hastily erected screens momentarily obscured the images connected to specific memories, but he was still able to follow the emotion and navigate around the obstacles.

Her most fundamental fear, the one he was following now, was losing people she cared about. Considering that they had just been through a war, this was hardly surprising, but to his utter astonishment her fear was not only for her loved ones' safety. She was afraid of being left alone, of people turning away from her as she was incapable of connecting to them and holding on to them.

More memories flashed by in quick succession. He saw her as a young girl in a muggle school, always by herself or with grown-ups, as she never fit in with other kids. When she came to Hogwarts, eager to prove that this was the world where she belonged, other students found her weird and were put off by her precocious manner. Until the troll incident, which had somehow formed a bond between her, Potter and Weasley, she hadn't been able to make any friends. In fact, her relationship with the boys was her first friendship ever, and it meant the world to her. But when her feelings grew beyond friendship for the red-head, he never even seemed to notice her, making her feel rejected once again.

He was struck by the similarities between her and his own past. He had been the odd one out, too, his friendship with Lily the only relationship he had managed to maintain, at least for a while. Until unreturned growing feelings had complicated things. He had been rejected and left alone – for the longest time, she had been afraid it would happen to her, too.

Her memories of her and Weasley transported him right back into the forest, where he witnessed the red-head turning his back on her, leaving her standing in front of a tent, pale and disheartened. The emotions connected with this memory were saturated with loss and anger, but also this feeling of inadequacy he had noted before and which continued to surprise him. Surely she didn't have anything to feel inadequate about! But there was no doubt – Hermione Granger, deep down, felt unsure about herself. She feared that people might leave her because what she had to offer was not enough to make them stay. He couldn't help but realise that these fears were also strongly linked to her sexuality. As she had already confided in him, none of the people she had cared about – however briefly – had been able to satisfy any of her needs, no one had given her the closeness, the sense of belonging or at least the acceptance she craved.

Stricken, he realised that he was one of those people. He couldn't avoid seeing fragments of memories of himself, dressing her down in Potions class for giving a text-book answer, for writing a far too long essay, for brewing an uninspired potion. He also caught a glimpse of himself ridiculing her in Defence and turning her down that fateful night in his office. Her feeling of failure, her disappointment and her sadness made him stumble. He managed to disentangle himself from those threads he'd briefly gotten caught in, wondering if it had been a conscious effort on her part to throw him off balance. He didn't want to get caught in other memories that showed himself in her mind, so he quickly grabbed on to the thread of emotion he had been tracking before – her fear of loss.

The memories being pulled forward now were confusing. He saw a woman who felt like Hermione in her mind, but clearly wasn't her. Yet there was only one other person in the scene: A man who looked like a clerk or a solicitor. But she couldn't have memories belonging to other people... The vision didn't seem particularly dreadful – just a woman doing business, probably in a bank. Why this overwhelming feeling of loss in this context?

Before he could examine it further, he was assaulted by other images; this time it was Hermione talking to the same woman he had just seen. Only now, she was sitting next to another man on a white leather sofa. Seeing all three together he immediately knew that it was the Grangers. But something seemed wrong with that memory, too. Hermione seemed strangely detached, acting cool and business-like, and the Grangers seemed – confused. They were talking about their relocation, and while the conversation was unemotional and very matter of fact, the feelings surrounding them were anything but. Once again, a feeling of loss, the fear of losing loved ones and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness clouded everything, but he could also detect a strong, underlying feeling of guilt.

In fact, the guilt was overpowering. He could feel it swell as he was pondering it, starting to envelop him from all sides and making it difficult to see through it. Again, it would have been a marvellous method to obscure his vision, had it been intentional. He was sure, however, that it wasn't. He had just inadvertently touched on something that was consuming her. Afraid to inflict damage to the fabric of her mind if he tried to unravel the loops and knots of these particular thoughts, memories and emotions, he gently disentangled herself from them and retreated from her mind.

With his awareness back in his physical body, he saw that she was crying. Small wonder – he had just made her relive all her fears and her losses. He wordlessly handed her a handkerchief and considered moving away to give her space to compose herself. But somehow he felt that distance was not what she needed right now. So he sat with her, watching and waiting quietly for her crying to lessen. Once more he wished he was better at this – or at least free to follow this strange urge that made him want to envelop her in his arms and hold her together while she fell apart.

Instead, he settled on the Englishman's cure-all for all dire situations and made tea. He patiently waited until she got herself back under control, blew her nose, wiped her eyes and accepted the cup he offered her. Only then he calmly asked: "What happened to your parents, Miss Granger?"

She stiffened, then her shoulders slumped and her head fell forward, hiding her face behind her hair. Her voice, when she finally answered, was so low he could hardly hear her. "I sent them away."

"I figured as much. Where did you send them to?"

"Australia. I wanted them to be safe, and I thought that was far away enough for Voldemort not to bother."

That surely was sound thinking, and he told her so. "I know that your parents were high on the list of targets, and I repeatedly warned Dumbledore about it. So what happened? Were they found?" He could hardly imagine that the Dark Lord had gone after them on the other side of the world. They hadn't been _that_ important. But what else could explain this drowning guilt, the intense sorrow and profound feeling of loss that she felt, other than them being dead?

To his astonishment, she shook her head. "No. They're still alive. But – they don't remember having a daughter. I obliviated them."

It took him a moment to fully comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. She couldn't have managed such a feat by herself. Targeted memory charms were incredibly complex. Of course, one could always try and wipe an entire mind, but that was not advisable. You could never tell the outcome. The strangest things had happened to wizards who'd been subject to an attempt of comprehensive obliviation. She wouldn't have done it to her muggle parents. But targeted obliviation wasn't on the syllabus at Hogwarts. Those spells were taught to Aurors, ministry workers in the Department for Magical Security or the Bureau of Covert Vigilance & Obliviation. Of course, that didn't mean that only those people knew how to cast them. He was reasonably adept at them himself – the fact that he was a decent Legilimens helped. The only other person he had known who excelled at memory charms had been Dumbledore.

"You mean you asked Dumbledore to manipulate their memories?" he inquired, sure that this was what had occurred. "And your parents agreed to that?"

She shook her head, albeit without looking him in the eyes. "I did ask Dumbledore, but he refused to help me without my parents' consent. But how would I ever get them to consent to wiping me from their minds?"

"You – you wanted to obliviate their minds against their will?" He kept his voice neutral, but inside, he was dumbfounded that Hermione Granger, upholder of rules and moral standards, would even consider such an ethically disputable thing.

"I had no choice..." she said in a voice that reflected the despair she had felt. "I had told them about what was going on in the wizarding world. But I guess to them, it sounded like a bizarre fairy tale. An evil wizard, surrounding himself with mask-wearing minions who called themselves Death Eaters, striving to rule the world... They didn't really take it seriously, and wouldn't believe that they could really pose a threat in their reality."

"In their reality?" he echoed. As if there was another one. "They had a witch daughter. Surely they knew that everything about the wizard world was quite real."

"No, not really. For them, it always remained abstract. They've never been to Hogwarts. They've not even been able to step onto platform 9 3/4 and see the Hogwarts Express. For the longest time, I wasn't allowed to use my wand at home because of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, so they hardly ever saw evidence of magic, either. The Weasleys were the only wizarding family they ever met and talked to, and that was only once, in Diagon Alley. Otherwise, they had no contact with the wizarding world. It wasn't even a world to them. It was just this one street and a school they had never set foot into. How could I expect them to take it for real?"

She paused and sipped on her tea, while Severus was once again flabbergasted. She was right. Why had he never seen it? Why had nobody ever paid a fleeting thought to how muggle parents viewed their world? The Statute of Secrecy demanded that even parents of Muggleborn witches and wizards were basically cut off from their children's lives. Apart from that one obligatory visit of the headmaster or deputy headmaster when a Muggleborn received their Hogwarts letter, Muggleborn parents had no contact whatsoever with the wizarding world. There were no open school days or parent conferences, no festivities to which parents were invited. It was amazing that they could be persuaded at all to give their children into the care of people who must seem so strange to them, and to send them off to a place they could never even see. What kind of strain did that put on Muggleborn witches and wizards and their families? They couldn't really share and remain part of their loved ones' lives. How many other students had been in her position all these years?

"But you told them about Hogwarts and things you experienced, surely?" he asked.

She scoffed. "Like getting petrified by a basilisk? Turning myself into a cat accidentally? Almost being attacked by a werewolf? Flying on Thestrals to London to save a fugitive murderer from a snake-faced megalomaniac? You have to understand that my parents are logical, scientific people. They kept regarding the whole wizard thing as a sort of a cult-like movement of rather eccentric people who had strange and rare talents. Have you ever heard about LARP?"

He shook his head.

"It's short for Live-Action-Role-Playing. There are quite a few enthusiasts all over the world who regularly engage in this. LARPs are played in a public or private area and can last for hours or days. There is usually no audience. People pretend to be characters in an often medieval fantasy world, like knights, witches, magicians or even dwarfs. They dress like them and carry appropriate equipment, and the setting is decorated accordingly. That one day in Diagon Alley, it must have felt to them as if they had stepped into the set of an elaborate movie production – a fancy fantasy world some people have created for themselves. To think it was more than that would have threatened their fundamental beliefs in how the world worked."

"And yet they accepted that their highly intelligent daughter got involved in this – instead of coming back to her senses and doing something – normal?"

"Well, there's the thing: They always knew I wasn't normal. I was always the odd one out in school. Hell, I was the odd one out at home, too. Mind you – my parents loved me, but they never really understood me. To them, it was just about having a slightly out-of-the-norm daughter who vanished for the best part of the year to some obscure school in Scotland. They supported me because, in the end, all they ever wanted for me was to be happy. And if I was happy in a quirky kind of fantasy world, they accepted that, too. I'm not saying they never tried to nudge me back into what they perceived as reality, for they did – often enough to get on my nerves. They were still hoping that I would go to University after I finished Hogwarts."

"To study what exactly?"

She blushed. "Chemistry, most likely. I was my fault, I guess. To explain to them what I learned at Hogwarts, I used a lot of muggle references. When I told them about Potions class, I guess I made it sound a lot like chemistry – working in a lab with volatile substances and interacting ingredients, producing and researching medication... The idea was supported by the fact that they often saw me working on arithmantic formulas for Professor Vector, and in context it looked to them like some obscure, yet advanced branch of science."

"You never told them about your other subjects?"

"Well, I mostly spoke about my favourite subjects. History of Magic became History, Defence against the Dark Art became Self-Defence, and Ancient Runes already sounded like something archeology-related. I never spoke about Transfiguration. It wasn't to purposely mislead them – I never lied. I just spoke to them about it all in a context they could understand. And telling them _everything_ would only have worried them, especially since they were helpless to do anything about it. And after a time, I feared that the full truth would have destroyed the idea they had made for themselves about the magical world – whimsical, but mostly harmless."

"I suppose that your lack of clarity and the fact that you left them in the dark for so long came back to bite you..."

"With a vengeance. When I finally told them everything during the winter holiday of my sixth year – about Harry, the prophecy, the attacks on Muggles, the Order of the Phoenix... they didn't quite believe me. They probably even feared that I had lost it completely. They just... brushed it off. Saying that if circumstances were indeed as dire as I made them sound, they wouldn't leave without me anyway. For days I argued with them, implored them, begged them... But they wouldn't listen. They insisted that either I go with them, or they wouldn't go at all.

I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't let them stay, and I couldn't leave Harry either. So I came up with this plan. It took me a great part of the remaining school year to research the spells, and to practise them on rats. And I spent the entire summer holidays on finalising the details – organising new identities, settling their finances and preparing their move."

For a moment, he stared at her speechlessly. It was only thanks to the impeccable control he had over his features that he didn't have his mouth hanging open. "Impossible. That's an impossible endeavour. Not just the organisation of all of that. But you were never even taught memory spells. You couldn't have learned them from books alone!"

"No. I had – other sources for the spells."

"So someone did help you... Who, if not Dumbledore?" No one of the order would have helped her with that. He might have, had she asked him. But why should she have turned to him for help? He had never given her a reason to trust him. And a short time later his actions had shouted loud and clear that he indeed should never have been trusted.

"Well, Dumbledore's insistence that it was unethical to obliviate anyone without consent gave me the idea. It made me think of someone who was totally unethical and an expert on memory charms..."

"Dear Merlin, girl! Tell me you're not talking about ..."

But she nodded, and solemnly completed his sentence: "Gilderoy Lockhart, yes. I visited him in St. Mungo's a couple of times. Do you know what the funny thing is with his memory? He still remembers many things about his life – even in detail. You only have to nudge his memory by giving him the facts first. Of course, if you gave him false facts, like saying 'you were a famous Quiddich player!' he'd instantly pick up on that and tell you everything you want to know about his life as a sports star – except that it's mostly rubbish, made up of things he'd heard or read about or just imagined. But if you give him the right hint, like 'you were an expert on memory charms' and ask him how he did them... well, suffice to say I got brilliant instructions. And the best part about it: His ability to move things to long term memory is irrevocably damaged. The next day, he had forgotten that I had ever been there. I didn't have to worry about him being able to manipulate people's memories ever again."

"I can't believe that Lockhart's instructions were at all usable!"

"Oh, he might have been a fraud and totally incompetent in every other field of magic, but he really was brilliant with memory charms! Probably better than most people at the ministry. I tried to get information out of Arthur, too, without making him suspicious, just to confirm that what Lockhart told me wasn't complete and utter rubbish. It was far from that. Lockhart used a two-way charm to target memories very specifically: One to tie all memories concerning a certain event together, and the second to delete it. With my parents, I simply made them forget everything connected to the word 'Hermione'."

"So you erased a large part of their memories of 18 years? They will have gaping holes in their minds – there is no way such an extensive charm could work without them noticing that something is amiss."

"I was aware of that. Lockhart had a solution for that as well: A combination of a Hypnosis and Confundus charm which is used to implant a suggestion. It worked like a self-healing patch that ties up those odd, loose ends. A cover story, if you will, which their minds could use as a structure to fill in between pieces that did not quite fit together."

"I'm dreading to ask what kind of cover story you gave your parents..."

"Well, it was a bit over the top from a muggle's perspective, but compared to the truth, it was downright mundane. I planted the false truth that they had become targets of a criminal organisation because their dental records threatened to expose the identity of an influential gang member. An attempt was made to destroy those records, but my parents happened to walk in on the burglary of their office and were attacked, too. They both suffered head trauma and partial memory loss. Being witnesses made them even more a target, so the government gave them new identities and suggested they move abroad for a while."

"I suppose you arranged for false identification?"

"Yes. That part was astonishingly easy to do. It was more complicated to open a bank account in their new name and transfer their funds. I used polyjuice to impersonate my mother." The latter had been a very weird experience, weirder than anything else she had done with polyjuice before. Until she had been forced to turn herself physically into Bellatrix Lestrange and had seen her tormentor looking at her from the mirror. It was still the cause of most of her nightmares and sent a shiver down her spine, even now. Hermione quickly caught her drifting thoughts and focused back on the discussion at hand.

Severus nodded. That must have been the memory he'd seen in her mind – Hermione impersonating her mother. "What happened afterwards? I saw you and your parents in your living room... I suppose after their obliviation?" It sure explained the weird distance he had felt – and Hermione's dread.

"Yes. I dressed in a business suit and introduced myself as government employee Harmony Miller, responsible for their case. I told them that I was to help them with their relocation. I wanted to observe their reaction to seeing me and to make sure that the fake memory had taken hold. It was like with Lockhart: I only had to 'remind' them of a certain fact – like the break-in into their office – and they seemed to remember. I suppose the suggestive element must have been part of the memory charm he tried to use on Ron and Harry in the Chamber of Secrets which backfired on him. It's obviously still working perfectly well on himself nowadays."

That was indeed an impressive piece of magic. Severus knew that it was possible to implant a specific suggestion. But to give a person just the frame of such a suggestion and encourage his mind to come up with fitting images and memories by itself was downright genius. It surely made the fake memory more believable, given that it was built on their own real memories or thoughts. Thank Merlin that such knowledge had never fallen into the Dark Lord's hands...

"I made sure my parents were aware of the fact that they had experienced memory loss, and that the doctors had told them not to worry about it too much – it would probably all come back to them with time. I gave them their new passports, access to their accounts, their flight tickets and a hotel reservation for their first week in Australia."

"So how did they react to seeing you, but not knowing you?" He had always been curious if a deletion of memories also nullified the connecting emotions. Knowing how minds worked, he found that hard to believe.

"It was strange. They didn't recognise me, of course, but I had the impression that they were feeling some kind of familiarity that they explained away with having met me before and finding me instantly sympathetic and likeable." Or they had interpreted their own reaction as empathy at Hermione's obvious distress and the fact that she – for inexplicable reasons – had been on the verge of tears during the entire conversation.

"That was some really advanced piece of magic, Miss Granger," Severus finally said, not sure if he should feel awed or aghast. It must have cost her dearly to pull this off. Still, it was brilliant. She was certainly a force to be reckoned with if she had her mind set on something. To brush all scruples, all questions of morality, all her pain and desperation aside like that and do what she deemed necessary – it rivalled his own determination when doing what was needed of him during the war. Once again, he was stuck by how much he could relate to the workings of her mind and by how similar they were in some aspects. And he also knew that this ruthlessness, no matter how justified, came at a price, at least for someone who still had a conscience. It was apparent in the tremendous amount of guilt she felt for her own actions. He could not condemn her for them. He'd have done the same without hesitation, if he'd been in her shoes, although doubtlessly others would be shocked if they knew.

"In case you were harbouring doubts about it: I still think you did the right thing."

"You do?" For the first time since they had started talking about her parents, she held his gaze. To see the relief in her features was heartbreaking.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I definitely do. Deceiving people to protect them is better than risking them dying." It was, after all, what he had done all these years, and, by her own admission, she regarded him as a hero for it. "If you so easily understood, justified and forgave my actions, why can't you forgive yourself for what you obviously conceive as betrayal of your parents?"

"Because the damage I did is irrevocable," she said in a small voice. "I thought after the war, when everything was over, I'd give them their real memories back and ask their forgiveness. But – I can't. I don't know how."

"Have you spoken to Lockhart again?"

"Yes. But he has never been interested in restoring someone's memory in the first place and didn't have a clue. He kept asking why anyone would want to do such a thing. It seems that the obliviation is irreversible."

Well, that certainly made sense. Had she been a Legilimens, she could have saved her parents' memories before erasing them. If there was a way to restore an obliviated memory, the healers dealing with Lockhart surely would have found it by now.

"I take it that you saw them again, after the war?"

"Yes, I went to Australia this summer, again under the guise of being their case official," she told him about what clearly had not been a happy journey. "I told them that the trial had been a success even without their testimony, and they no longer were in danger. I told them it was safe to come back."

"What did they say?"

"They were reluctant. They said that thinking of their house and their lives back in England gave them a feeling of loss and sadness they ascribed to the trauma they had experienced. They didn't feel ready yet to face it again, even thought of selling the house and making the move complete. I completely lost it then. I explained my distress with personal problems, telling them that I had recently lost my parents due to a car accident and that they reminded me a bit of them. My mum was so kind... she even gave me a hug and tried to comfort me, which of course made me cry even harder. It was a very distressing visit." Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I lost them. For me, they might as well be dead."

"No, Miss Granger," Severus objected. "They are alive and well. And though you robbed yourself and them of something valuable and irreplaceable, they can still form new memories. You'll just have to find a different way of becoming part of their lives again."

"How?"

"You said they seemed to feel a connection. Your mother obviously did. Maybe you can build on that. Their emotional memory seems to be still intact and it might be triggered by you. Who can tell what will happen in the long run? Brains have an astounding capacity to mend themselves. Find out how much they remember on a subconscious level. You can still decide to tell them the truth – even without their memories. Or you can see how much of it you can nudge back – like it's obviously possible to do with Lockhart."

"Yes," she breathed, for the first time feeling a tingle of hope when thinking of her parents, and not just the devastating, oppressive grief, the loss, and the guilt. "Thank you. That really helped. I've never spoken about this to anyone. I felt – ashamed."

Ashamed of her perceived failure, and unlovable for it. Just like the dream she had described to him yesterday. Knowing what he knew about her fears now, he understood the symbolism behind it. She hadn't recognised the danger she and Potter had been in when coming upon Bathilda Bagshot, and she had failed to warn her friend. She thought she had also failed Severus himself, by not being able to help him and by leaving him to die. As if reading any more books on healing or on defence would have made a difference, would have enabled her to save those lives that were lost. Who'd have thought that the girl he had regarded as an insufferable know-it-all could have so many insecurities deep down? And who'd have thought that he of all people would feel the urge to reassure her?

"Tell me, Miss Granger – why is it that you feel that your worth depends so much on your accomplishments, on doing everything right?" he asked.

"What?" She looked at him with confusion in her eyes. "Why would you think that?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? You don't feel guilty for having obliviated your parents against their will. You knew it was a debatable decision in terms of ethics, yet you didn't hesitate to do it. You did what you thought was best for them. You feel guilty and ashamed for failing to bring their memory back."

Her gaze changed to one of astonishment, then understanding. "You're right," she finally said. "I never realised that."

"Even in Hogwarts, from the very first day on, you were afraid of failing. It has always been the driving force behind your eagerness to learn, to succeed. And it explains why you always give text-book answers and never dare to experiment in potions, despite your competence in the subject. Why, I wonder? Failure is a necessary part of learning."

"It's a bit hypocritical for you to say so, don't you think? After all, you constantly berated us for our mistakes."

"Yes, I did. But how does that negate my point? Failure means facing consequences, be it my scorn or an exploding cauldron. You feared my scorn more, didn't you? Because for you, it equalled disapproval, and that made you feel rejected as a person. It made you feel unworthy. Was it because even at a young age, you felt you had to prove yourself to the likes of Draco Malfoy, who told you that you were beneath him? Do you believe that the only reason your friends keep you around is your vast knowledge that you so willingly share with them – even when it's unasked for, like with Longbottom in my potions class?"

Hermione could only look at him in awe. It was true. All of it. Her self esteem lay in her knowledge and her competence. No one had ever complimented her for being pretty or being nice. She had been an only child, raised by well-meaning and supportive, yet ambitious parents who wanted the best for her. They had helped her discover her talent, the area of interest where she could shine. It hadn't been the ballet, nor the piano. The art classes she had taken as a seven year old had also been pretty much for nothing, as she still couldn't draw a horse. But she had excelled at reading and comprehending. Her nearly eidetic memory had set her apart from her peers and had made her parents proud, which had encouraged her to continue this path. She had become the typical, precocious child adults found endearing and other children hated. Hermione hadn't understood why, and had always felt more at ease around grown-ups. It might well be that her predisposition to feel attraction for a man twice her age had been formed in her early childhood.

Hermione had received praise and recognition for her competence. And just like her professor had pointed out, she had somehow subconsciously concluded that she would be rejected for failing. It was a sobering revelation.

He had cut to the heart of her insecurities with surgical precision, laying her inner self open and examining what made her tick with almost scientific interest. But Hermione knew that there was no ill-intent behind his blunt words. His eyes were gentle, full of understanding.

"Nothing you could have accomplished would have changed Draco's views of you at that time, not even if you had made it Minister of Magic at 15. His disdain didn't have anything to do with _you_. You're allowed to make mistakes, Miss Granger. You don't have to be perfect to be liked, or loved." He was not only referring to the guilt she felt regarding her parents or the guilt regarding his almost-death, which she had blamed herself for. He was also thinking about her insecurities regarding her relationships – Ronald Weasley in particular, who seemed responsible for most of them, even if unintentionally. And he himself obviously had to bear some of that responsibility as well.

"Whatever might have been the reason for your friend leaving you when you needed him most – it wasn't about your deficiencies. It was all about his own."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She felt like she'd been hit with a board. There were far too many revelations to process, too many new ideas to ponder and too many emotions to deal with right now. He was aware of that, too.

"You should go back to your tower now and get some sleep," he told her almost gently. "This has been exhausting, I'm sure. Take some time to think about what I said and about what we both saw in your memories today. We'll discuss your second experience with Legilimency and your efforts to defend against it tomorrow."

"Yes, I will. Thank you again, Professor. I really appreciate your helping me with this."

"Think nothing of it, Miss Granger."


	9. The Subtle Art of Legilimency

Summary of Chapter Eight – Occlumency the Second

In her second Occlumency lesson, Severus tracks the most predominant emotion he finds in Hermione's mind: anxiety. He takes a closer look at all her fears and discovers that Hermione's fear of loss partly has to do with her parents. He is surprised to learn that Hermione managed to obliviate them and give them false memories with the unknowing help of Gilderoy Lockhart. She now feels a tremendous amount of guilt for not being able to return their memories. Severus also realises and confronts Hermione about the fact that her self-esteem is hugely built on her knowledge and her competence and is thus easily shattered by perceived failure. Regarding her parents, Severus encourages her not to despair about the situation, but to find a different way to make them part of her life again.

 _A/N: The upcoming chapter has a lot on the theory of Legilimency, which in the Harry Potter books sadly was never explained in detail. It should have been though, because without an explanation similar to the one I came up with, there is a major flaw in the logic of HP: Why would Voldemort send Snape to spy on Dumbledore, a known Legilimens – unless he also knows that Snape is an Occlumens? And if he does – why would he ever trust him?_

* * *

 **The Subtle Art of Legilimency**

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Hermione greeted him politely when she entered his office the next afternoon. She was supposed to start brewing for the hospital wing today and he needed to give her a briefing about the procedures.

Severus narrowed his eyes when he saw that she had come with nothing but her wand. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Sir?" she asked innocently.

"When will I get my robe back?" He had politely refrained from asking her yesterday, thinking that she had simply forgotten about it. But upon seeing her turn up without it again, the suspicion began to form that her forgetfulness was rather a matter of convenience. After all, his robe was sensible and warm, while her shiny, silky Kimono was certainly an eye-catcher, but entirely useless for its original purpose.

"Um... yes, of course. In a little while..."

"And why not now, pray tell?"

She uncomfortably shifted her weight. "Well, the thing is... it was covered with spores."

"Excuse me?" Perplexed, he looked at the girl who was blushing slightly, but seemed determined to defend her point.

"Well, Luna discovered that the coat was glowing purple... a fact that really surprised her..." If Luna had been surprised to see the professor's robe sticking out from under Hermione's cushion in the first place, she had hidden it expertly. She hadn't even seemed to notice Hermione's embarrassment, or the fact that her mind had gone into overdrive trying to come up with a believable explanation, although it was pretty clear that there was none. Luna hadn't asked any questions at all – she had just been excited to discover that the cloak was emitting a slight glow that matched the professor's aura, and had immediately started developing theories about the phenomenon.

"You see," Hermione shared Luna's musings with her teacher, "Gloomilows themselves don't have a colour, so Luna figured it must either be their waste products or the spores that make the robe glow. She thinks the latter is more likely, and I like that explanation better, too. After all, it's kind of disgusting to think one is wandering about in robes that are covered with Gloomilow excrement, which can be seen by everybody who has never had a Common Whotnit infection. True, those people seem to be an insignificant minority, but still... I figured it's better to make sure that the robe is clean before I give it back to you."

"I'm afraid I can't follow you, Miss Granger. Do you meant to tell me that you gave my robe to the house elves for cleaning as it was covered in excrement?"

"No, of course not! As I said – Luna didn't really believe it was excrement. She tried to wash it from a sleeve, which didn't work. This strongly suggests that it's the spores that are making it glow. Apparently, they can't be cleaned away from fabric by washing, which is why Luna suggested that I keep your robe for a while. My own astral glow should kill them off in no time."

As a matter of fact, Hermione had been most grateful to Luna for offering such a plausible explanation to justify postponing the return of his possession.

"So am I to understand that you're intend on wearing my robe until it's cleaned of Gloomilow spores?"

Well, that was the basic idea. To keep it until his scent had worn off, which would make it pointless to keep clinging to it in her sleep. "If you don't mind...", she said politely.

The witch looked up to him with a seemingly innocent expression. Having taught her for six years, however, Severus was familiar with it. She only ever wore it if she was hiding something - in this case probably ulterior motives for not handing his robe back. But, for the love of Merlin, he had no idea what those could be. Maybe she didn't have the funds to buy herself a decent dressing gown? Did she have any financial means at all, now that she practically had no parents anymore?

Severus pinched his nose between his fingers. Yet another concern to add to his ever-growing list. "I presume you don't expect _me_ to wear your clothes in return in order to kill off adherent spores with my own astral radiation?" he asked, still trying to decide whether he should let her get away with this ridiculous explanation to spare her the humility of having to admit financial problems.

Hermione had a hard time to keep her face straight when imagining this. "No, Sir, of course not," she said earnestly. "Even Luna thought that wouldn't be appropriate."

"Thank Merlin!" He shook his head, feeling that he was jumping through a loop for her, like some toothless tiger. But given the circumstances, he really had no choice but to let her keep his coat until it got warmer. "Can I trust that you will keep the wearing of my robes within the confines of your quarters?" he asked, just to make sure. "I daresay neither Minerva nor Filch will find your explanation convincing should they catch you out in the hallways in them..." He'd rather not ponder what they would most likely suspect instead.

"I won't let that happen, Sir," Hermione promised. Unless the caretaker or the headmistress chose to inspect what she kept under her pillow, the status of her relationship with her teacher remained above suspicion.

"Well then – thank you so much for your effort on my behalf, Miss Granger," Severus said ironically. "Whatever would I do without your generous help?"

"You're welcome, Sir. I'm always glad of be of assistance," she assured eagerly.

Severus growled. "Your assistance is about to start right now. Madam Promfrey needs a batch of Anti-Flu-Potion. You should have no problems brewing it."

"Yes, Sir." Hermione turned towards the potion lab, but instead of opening the familiar arch that connected it to his office, her professor waved his wand at the shelf that held all those jars full of atrocities on the wall left of his desk. To her surprise, it slipped aside and revealed another, much smaller walk-through. He beckoned her to follow him into the adjoining room. "This is my private lab. I usually do all the brewing for Madam Pomfrey in here."

"Oh, it's very impressive!" Hermione exclaimed, taking in the free-standing, marble-top worktable, the countless gleaming cauldrons in different sizes and materials and the shelves full of finished potions, empty flasks and vials waiting to be filled and jars of ingredients that lined the walls. The containers were smaller than in the Potions lab, but Hermione's sharp eyes detected ingredients that were especially rare and expensive.

"After my stores were plundered in your second and again in your fourth year, I've started to store the more expensive potion ingredients such as Boomslang Skin and Lacewing Flies in here," he told her, putting emphasis on the ingredients Hermione had once urgently needed to brew Polyjuice.

She had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "That's probably wise, Sir," she said with a small voice. "I hope you have them heavily warded now?"

"No one but me can open the hidden door, Miss Granger, and only very few people know of its existence."

Hermione approached the spacious work table in the middle of the room. It looked very much like the square group table in the potion lab – big enough to keep three or four cauldrons going and still offering enough workspace for ingredient preparation.

"You may use everything in here for your hospital brewing. But I expect your workplace to be left exactly as you found it, which means in a pristine state of cleanliness. We don't want any contamination. With healing potions, hygiene is of utmost importance."

"Of course. You don't need to tell me that. My parents were dentists. I know all there is to know about hygiene. Actually, I'm glad to know that Madam Pomfrey's supply of potions is not being brewed in the student lab. It always struck me as rather – unhygienic."

He snorted. "Indeed. Well then, Miss Granger, you may begin. I'll be brewing the Blood-Replenishing Potion, so I'll be here in case you have need of assistance."

For the Anti-Flu-Potion? Hardly. It was an easy, but labour-intensive potion, as it required many different ingredients that needed to be peeled, sliced, chopped and measured. The right preparation of thistles, snake fangs, Pomegranate seeds and ginger roots was second nature to her by now and required no concentration. The same was true for the Potions Master, who started brewing his much more complex potion with enough ease to casually start a conversation.

"Since you didn't mention it nor asked for a potion... Am I right to assume that you suffered no headache after yesterday's Occlumency session, either?" he inquired, seeing that Hermione had started on her task with vigour and seemed to be well at ease.

"Not at all – I'm fine," she replied. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because a person's mind is not meant to be invaded. It usually reacts with severe headaches or migraines to someone else rummaging around in it."

Hermione frowned. "Does that mean that Voldemort left you in pain each time he entered your mind?"

His expression was confirmation enough. "How horrible!" Hermione exclaimed, looking up from the snake fangs she was crushing in the mortar. "No wonder you were so moody. I imagine Voldemort wasn't even half as careful when attacking your shields as you were when you took down mine..."

No, _careful_ was certainly not a word that could be ascribed to the Dark Lord's invasions of his mind. The man who considered himself the greatest Legilimens of all time had had no patience for the subtle art of Legilimency. He had simply recklessly burst through his shields and torn at the delicate threads of his mind's fabric until he found what he was looking for – or rather, what Severus intended him to find. It had always been a painful procedure that had left him with blinding migraines the next day.

The first time he'd legilimised Hermione, he had merely brushed her mind, which might have explained why she hadn't been in discomfort. But yesterday, his exploration had been deep and thorough, and he had touched on delicate and sensitive memories; hence she ought to have felt the repercussions. Even Dumbledore had left him with headaches each and every time they had tested Severus' Occlumency skills.

"The Dark Lord didn't have to use force to break in into my mind, as I have never armed my defences against him," he clarified. "After all, I was trying to give the impression of willingness. Strong shields would have done me no good in any case: The better someone's shields are, the more violent the attack has to be. It's not purely mental, Miss Granger. There are physical repercussions. They do not call it mind rape for nothing."

Hermione frowned. "I've never heard anyone call it that."

"Well, that explains your eagerness to subject yourself to the process."

"It didn't feel like that at all!" she objected, taken aback at the notion that anyone might consider his teaching her Occlumency as something morally reprehensible, especially since his method seemed to be the only efficient one. Yet he himself seemed bent on painting his every action in a bad light. "There was nothing violent about what you did, and I was a willing participant. So don't compare it to what Voldemort did to you! This is totally different."

Severus looked at her thoughtfully. The idea was audacious, but maybe she had a point there... If one was inclined to see similarities between Legilimency and physical intimacy – and the idea certainly suggested itself, if only because the terms to describe either act were similar – it probably wasn't surprising that a more considerate approach and a certain level of willingness and trust between the parties involved made a huge difference in how the penetrations of one's mind was perceived. By purpose and design, Legilimency was usually forced; it sole purpose being extracting information from the unwilling mind of another person.

It made him wonder if there might be a whole different aspect to Legilimency that he had never considered before... one that lovestruck, romantic fools wrote epics about: a merging of souls and minds, becoming one with another person in a spiritual way. He shook his head as if to prevent such ridiculous ideas from taking hold. Pondering the possibility of soul mergings certainly wasn't helpful in their particular situation.

Hermione set the snake fang powder aside and started chopping the onions. "I always thought you skimmed people's minds all the time – without them ever noticing."

Severus snorted. Yes, he had been aware of those silly rumours, and he had done everything he could to support the theory. But of course, it was utter rubbish. "Why would I want to explore the minds of the teenage dunderheads I'm teaching?" he asked. "The edited thoughts that make it out of their mouths are bad enough. I have no desire view the unreflected and uncensored raw material inside their thick skulls."

"But you always seem to have a sixth sense that alerts you to any kind of mischief..." Hermione argued. "Gryffindors are convinced that you are able to read their minds."

He smirked. Indeed. They in particular failed to understand that an aptitude at reading body language and a keen observation skill was all it took to read them like books. "I don't need Legilimency to know what they are up to. They have all the subtlety of hippogriffs in heat, and are just as talented at hiding their emotions. It's basically a matter of being observant. Faces, eyes, skin and body movements tell the entire story."

"But _could you_ use Legilimency on us without us noticing, if you wanted to? You used your wand and spoke the incantation with me, but can you do it without?"

"Legilimency can be performed wandlessly and nonverbally. However, like all magic, it will be less exact, and attacking someone's mental barrier without a wand to focus the power is probably even more hurtful and damaging. But no matter if it's done with a wand or without, verbally or non-verbally: People will always notice if someone is trying to breach their defences. Even untrained minds have some basic protection. A Legilimens cannot undo it without the person taking notice." He briefly paused, rethinking this assertion. "Well, unless said person was Harry Potter..." he added.

Hermione looked up questioningly. "What are you saying?"

"I performed wandless and nonverbal Legilimency on him once. In Umbridges's office, when she had caught you bunch of troublemakers breaking in. Potter was clearly distraught, and was mentally shouting at me, willing me to see what was on his mind.

Hermione remembered. Harry had been convinced that Voldemort had captured Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. "You actually saw what was going on in his mind?"

"At least as clear as those images were in Potter's mind. Who do you think alerted the Order? I just didn't understand why you decided to rush off to the Ministry despite the fact that Potter had successfully informed me about what he thought was happening. Either he didn't trust me – which begs the question why he had chosen to pass me his obscure verbal message in the first place – or he never noticed me enter his mind. Maybe his state of panic made him less aware of what was going on, or... " He paused again and pondered another possibility he had never considered before. Up until now, he had thought that Legilimency was always painful to a certain degree, and would never go unnoticed. But Hermione – Miss Ganger! – had said that his first attempt at overcoming her walls by projecting positive emotions had even felt good. Would nonverbal and wandless Legilimency, if performed on a welcoming mind in a non-forceful way still be painful? Could it be that Potter hadn't been aware of his invasion, as he had subconsciously wished for him to see what he was thinking that moment – had even welcomed him into his mind?

Severus had no experience with consensual Legilimency. Although he had left his natural defences unarmed when facing the Dark Lord, his state of mind could hardly have been described as 'welcoming'. And although he had grudgingly and out of necessity put up with Dumbledore's invasion in the process of learning Occlumency, he had never again allowed him in once he had successfully learned to occlude, but had given him his memories to view in a Pensieve, if necessary. Severus strongly suspected that the willingness to let anyone enter one's mind had to be an emotional openness rather than the conscious decision not to fight back.

"Either Harry's panic prevented him from feelig your invasion or...?" Hermione prompted, urging him to finish his sentence.

"Or – and this is just an educated guess – Legilimency becomes less invasive if the Legilimens is welcome in the receptive mind."

Her Potions Professor looked at her as if he had just voiced a daring new theory and was expecting her to cry 'outrageous'. But Hermione didn't think the idea sounded particularly revolutionary. "Well, it certainly makes sense," she just said and shrugged. She hadn't been as averse to having him invade her mind as Harry had been. This would explain why he had always complained about headaches while she hadn't experienced any. Of course, another explanation might be that her teacher was being much more considerate with her than he had been with Harry.

Hermione started heating her cauldron and added the ingredients, leaving them to simmer while she ground the thistle.

"Well, as intriguing as this theory might be," Severus said, clearing his throat and pushing all musings about the intimacies of Legilimency to the back of his mind, "let's stick to the practical application. Tell me what you've learned from your last Occlumency lesson."

"Oh, a lot, I think!" Hermione exclaimed delightedly. "I now understand what this is all about – what you're doing."

"Really?" he asked, sceptical. "And what might that be?"

"You're mapping my mind."

Scepticism turned into astonishment. "Please, do continue!"

"Well, I guess in an abstract way, my mind is like a piece of fabric. I tried to keep it blank, as you suggested, but I wasn't really successful, as you found threads of emotions, which you picked up and used like a trail. By following them, you were able to find different thoughts and memories that were intertwined, made of the same material. Or differently put: You find memories by following the emotion that went into their making. Often, there is more than one thread connecting particular places in my mind; the threads are interwoven. Viewed from above, I suppose a mind looks like a colourful tapestry... By mapping it out, seeing which parts are made of what colour and understanding the pattern, you're getting the general picture – my state of mind. Basically: Me."

Severus was more than impressed with her interpretation. "Quite exceptional, Miss Granger. It seems there is more creativity in you than I had presumed, because I'm pretty sure that this is a description you never came across in a book."

"No, surprisingly not," she said, frowning in obvious irritation. "Though I don't understand why it wasn't explained that way. It would have helped immensely." She added the thistles to the cauldron, then a dash of Flubberworm Mucus, and stirred vigorously for a minute.

"You seem to labour under the misinterpretation that every mind is the same," Severus pointed out, tending to his own potion with effortless ease even while lecturing, "which is not the case. Everybody's intellectual world is built differently, and it's not even an irrevocable, solid structure. You already know that visualisation is one aspect of Occlumency – it is a tool to give your mind a specific appearance – the means to control what it looks like to others and to control what's happening in it. What seems like a tapestry with colourful threads in your mind, resembles buildings or rooms in others – be it the clutter of the Room of Hidden Things or a library. With you, frankly, I had expected the latter."

"I figured that a library wouldn't be a good mind-image," Hermione replied, extracting the pomegranate seeds. "It's highly structured and easily accessible, with all content neatly sorted. Kind of the opposite of what an Occlumens would want." Still, the idea of a mind library greatly appealed to her.

"Correct. Had you made your mind to appear like a library, your memories would have been sorted into categories like 'horror', 'romance', or 'fantasy' or into according scientific shelves, probably all in alphabetical order. No doubt it would even have featured a 'Forbidden Section'. For the purpose of Occlumency that is rather unhelpful. Besides, only a trained Occlumens would accomplish such a thing – it is not at all easy to label and sort out one's own feelings, memories and thoughts."

Hermione reduced the heat under her cauldron so she could throw in a spoon full of Porcupine Quills. After five stirs, she reheated the cauldron and continued to stir gently.

The Potion Master's brew was nearing the end of its first brewing stage, after which it had to sit for a couple of hours. He came over and helped her with the remaining seeds, which, once added, made the potion take on a deep red colour and indicated that all ingredients had successfully combined. Severus lowered the heat again to let the brew simmer for a few more minutes, while they started cleaning up the work table.

"How do you find your way around as a Legilimens, if each mind is so different?" Hermione asked, once more realising that Legilimency was much more complex than she had suspected.

Her teacher shrugged. "The basics are always the same. You can always find memories and thoughts by following emotions. An experienced Legilimens quickly finds out how a mind works."

"I'd love to see what your mind looks like," Hermione mused, not having intended to voice the thought. The look on his face alerted her of her blunder. She had not forgotten Harry's confession about their professor's reaction when he had secretly taken a sneak peak into his Pensieve. It had been a grave violation of privacy, even more so since he was such a guarded man, and Hermione was almost sure that it would never be forgiven. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to pry..." she hastened to assure. "I was just thinking out loud, wondering what you made up your mind to be... how it looks from a Legilimens' perspective. It must have been highly effective to fool Voldemort for so long."

Hermione's voice trailed off into silence. She was sure he would tell her off for her cheek, for disrespecting the rules he had set for their relationship and for challenging his boundaries again. But instead he said with a thoughtful expression: "I think that's not a bad idea. It might give you a better understanding of the whole concept."

In truth, he found the experiment intriguing. If he allowed her to enter his mind – would it feel as invasive as he had always suspected Legilimency simply felt? Or would his willingness make all the difference?

"Really? Are you serious?" Hermione made no effort to hide her excitement at the prospect.

"Don't look so eager, Miss Granger. I guarantee you won't find anything I don't intend you to see, so there's no danger of you trespassing. If you manage to find anything at all." He cancelled the heat spell under his cauldron and sat the finished potion aside to cool. "Let's go back into my office and see how far you get."

"But I don't even know how to perform Legilimency..." Hermione objected, suddenly feeling rather intimidated at the prospect of going into the mind of her buttoned-up Potions Professor. It seemed a much too intimate act, even more so than kissing him. Just like he had said when she had first suggested that he teach her Occlumency, she remembered... But it wasn't the same, surely, done the other way around? She wasn't such an unapproachable and excessively private person as he was.

"The spell itself is simple enough," he replied, beckoning her to follow him into his office, where he sat down in his chair and motioned her to stand beside him. "You know the incantation, there's no wand movement. The problem usually is to breach the defences. Only an accomplished Legilimens can do that, everyone else would immediately find themselves blocked. But for the purpose of this exercise, I will not raise my walls. So, come closer – you'll need to be able to look into my eyes and reach my head."

Hesitatingly, she stepped in front of him, coming to stand between his slightly parted legs. Even the position seemed too close. Feeling awkward, she raised her wand to his temple, locking her eyes with his. He seemed more calm about the whole thing than she was. Obviously, he was confident that she wouldn't be able to invade his privacy.

"Legilimens!" she whispered, and immediately felt herself sucked into the dark pools of his eyes. As if she'd been whipped away by a Portkey, she found herself on a deserted path in the middle of nowhere. Surrounding her was a rather desolate landscape, slightly resembling the Scottish Highlands. In the far distance, she could make out hazy structures which might have been trees or rocks. There was no wind, no sound, no living soul to be found. Nothing that gave her a point of orientation. The sky above her was of a monotone grey which, in the distance, melted into the landscape. She decided to simply follow the nondescript path she was on and see where it lead to. But no matter how far she walked, nothing seemed to get any nearer.

As if her professor had sensed her growing frustration and meant to give her a hint, she could suddenly feel a light breeze gently coming at her from the side. She decided to take it as a push into the right direction and walk with the flow rather then against it. Had she wanted to find his secrets, she probably would have needed to do the opposite, and would probably soon have found herself facing a storm.

Hermione left the path, feeling the wind in her back, and now found herself approaching one of the structures she had vaguely seen in the distance. She was walking downhill now, and the landscape began to change. It was getting softer, warmer and had more colour. The grass was greener and dappled with wildflowers. There were trees with rustling leaves, and birds chirping in their branches. She came into a grove with a small river running through it, and as she approached it, the sun came through the clouds. Its rays were silhouetted against the sky like pillars of gold and sent flecks of light to dance on the water of the river like sparkling jewels. The wind had calmed down to a mild and warm breeze, carrying the scent of flowers. There was a small sandy beach on the bank of the river, beckoning her to lay down. She knew the sand would be warm and mould to her body just perfectly. It was such an inviting, peaceful and beautiful place...

Before she could give in to the urge to lay down and bask in the warmth of the sun or dip into the water, however, the wind picked up and began rotating around her. It became a whirlwind that gently lifted her up and spun her around, as if she was disapparating.

When her eyes could look straight again, she found herself back in the classroom, staring in her professor's bedazzled face. She swayed, feeling slightly dizzy for a moment, and instinctively, he reached out and placed his hands on her hips to steady her. However, he let go only a moment later, realising their compromising position. Hermione leaned back against his desk, having a hard time regaining her equilibrium.

"Wow..." she said, slightly breathlessly. "That was... extraordinary!" Not only being in his mind. She could still feel her skin tingle where he had touched her.

He cleared his throat and got up, needing to reestablish his distance. So this new theory of his obviously had merit. He had felt her presence in his mind, but it had been totally different from having Dumbledore or the Dark Lord inside his head. In the unwelcoming, cold and desolate plain that was his mind, she had felt warm and alive, vibrant and colourful.

No, he was surely not going to have a headache from her invasion. In fact, he still felt a mild, tingling sensation in the places she had been, and it was far from unpleasant. Quite the contrary. He had thought it wiser to not prolong the experience, as there was no telling what might have happened if he had let her do what she obviously had intended to do – to fully immerse herself into this hidden, cherished corner of his mind and make herself at home there. He strongly suspected the experience would have been transcendental.

He poured himself a glass of water, as his throat suddenly felt much too dry. "So, Miss Granger..." he eventually said, striving for a professional tone. "Do you have any idea what you have seen?"

"Yes," she breathed, still under the spell of the experience. "You led me to a happy place inside your mind. Before, there was basically nothing, just vast emptiness. I guess I could have wandered around endlessly and aimlessly in it, if you hadn't lead the way."

"Emptiness is the key to successfully occluding," he lectured, walking around in his office as if he were in his Potions classroom in full teacher mode, apparently unruffled. "If the Legilimens catches no hint of emotion, he doesn't know where to go. But that's only in theory. In reality, no one can completely rid himself of emotions. They can just be subdued, made more subtle and less easy to detect. As a Legilimens, you would eventually have picked up on something. A scent, a sound, a slight breeze. You would have gone where the terrain was more difficult, more slippery, more uninviting."

"And I guess the wind would have been a strong gust blowing in my face, icy and chafing..." Hermione said, ever the eager student. "Or I would have found myself walking into a moor, or into fog so dense that I wouldn't know up from down."

"Exactly. The idea is to make it difficult for an intruder. Unless, of course, you want to give the impression that you're not occluding at all."

"So when Voldemort invaded your mind..."

"... I didn't really prevent him from seeking out the dark places. I just carefully chose which place he was allowed to visit, and which I kept hidden. After a while, he thought he knew all weak spots and my darkest secrets, and where to search for a particular thought or memory."

"But I didn't see any memories or images at all..." Hermione said in befuddlement, realising the fact only now. "I only saw a happy place, but I have no idea what memories went into its making."

"No," he smirked. "And I won't tell you. Had I allowed you to stay long enough and to look around more closely, you would eventually have found hints, provided you knew what to look for." He returned to his desk and used an Aguamenti charm to add water to the magical tea pot. A tap of his wand transformed it into tea. In Hermione's opinion, magically brewed tea wasn't as full in flavour as the 'real' thing, but it was drinkable and so easily done.

"Legilimency and Occlumency are both really fascinating disciplines," she said. "I would never have guessed."

"Well, as fascinating as the theory might be – let's not lose the focus of this exercise, which is you learning to close your mind," he said, pouring them both a cup. "If you think back to yesterday's Occlumency session – was there any point at which you felt you were getting near to successfully blocking me?"

"No, I don't think so. I didn't even know where to start."

"Well, that's not entirely correct. Actually, you almost managed to deter me twice. Once, by almost suffocating me with a particular emotion – or to stay in the image of a tapestry – by trying to tie me up and entangling me within it, and once by throwing me off balance, making me trip over it, if you like."

"Really?" Hermione wondered, taking a sip of her tea. "I didn't realise I was doing that."

"A lot of it is instinctive. The idea is to make you aware of what's happening so you can actively control it."

"Yes, I understand. By walking around in my mind, by pulling threads of emotions and finding intertwined thoughts and memories, you're showing me what they are made of, where they all come from and how everything is connected. It's like you're analysing my mind, and as I see what you see, you're showing me the design. And therein lies the key to successfully occlude, isn't it? Knowing the fabric of your mind, having a feel for its texture, seeing the pattern, and understanding its weaknesses and its strengths."

"Spot on, Miss Granger. Yes, that's the only way to learn Occlumency. A lot of wizards who call themselves Occlumens are just exceptionally good at shielding. But that's just the first step. The second is being able to hide your thought even after your shields have been breached, and that can't be taught by a book. The breaking-in of another person into your mind is an integral part of the process of learning. And it's probably the reason why there are so few real Occlumens. Not because it can't be learned. But because in order to learn, you have to put up with a Legilimens attacking your defences and laying your mind bare – not only to yourself, but also to that person. Not many people are willing to subject themselves to that."

"And I bet that Voldemort never did..."

"Certainly not. But he was also extremely good a shielding and believed himself proficient in Occlumency as well."

"Oh, that finally explains it!" Hermione exclaimed, looking as if she just had a revelation. "I always wondered why Voldemort would send a supposedly loyal follower into the enemy's camp as a spy if he was aware that said enemy was an accomplished Legilimens, as everybody knew Dumbledore to be. So it would have been extremely risky – unless he knew that his spy was an Occlumens. But knowing that, how could he have ever trusted you himself?"

Severus nodded. "The Dark Lord laboured under the same misconception as you originally did: He thought that Occlumency was just about shielding and protecting your mind against invasion. I had a natural talent for that, and just like you, I had taught myself how to shield from books. The Dark Lord always knew that I was able to erect strong shields and hold them up even under pressure. In fact, he had tested them himself quite thoroughly and was satisfied when I held out for almost 20 minutes before he finally breached my defenses."

Thinking of that particular instant still gave him the chills. The expression 'migraine' had been re-defined that day. He had been nauseous to the point unconsciousness, half blind with pain and unable to think straight for a day after. Fortunate for him, there had been nothing incriminating to find in his mind at the time: He was still seriously pissed-off, hurt and embarrassed after his fall-out with Lily, hateful of his Muggle roots because of his father and truly grateful for the Death Eaters cordial acceptance of him. He had been eager, ambitious and full of pride. True, the Dark Lord's mind torture that day had put a mild dent into his blind devotion, but he had accepted that this testing of his limits had been a necessary evil.

"My shielding skill was what made me so valuable as his spy. Dumbledore would have been incapable of Legilimising me, unless he resorted to torture to break my shields, and the Dark Lord knew that - contrary to him - that was a line Dumbledore would never cross."

"How ironic," Hermione said, "considering that Dumbledore was probably the person who taught you how to really occlude before he sent you back to Voldemort as his own spy..." She looked at him thoughfully and nodded to herself, as if she had solved yet another riddled. "So no wonder Dumbledore always trusted you! Not only because of the promise you made to Harry's parents, but also because he knew you inside out."

 _Because_? Severus raised his eyebrows. That was a funny way to look at it. More correctly put, Dumbledore had trusted him _despite_ knowing him inside out. But of course she, in all her innocence, wouldn't know that.

"Why didn't Dumbledore teach Harry himself?" the girl asked. "He must have know that it could never have worked out with _you_ teaching him. Harry didn't trust you at all. You digging around inside his mind must have been agony for both of you and probably only served to cement Harry's dislike for you."

"I suppose he hoped that it would force us – force me – into a better understanding of young Mr. Potter," Severus replied with slight sarcasm.

"Well, it's save to say that didn't work out so well..."

Her easy acceptance of his failing in this regard allowed him to concede, "I might have been too – unaccepting of the idea that young Mr. Potter is not like is father in every respect. I chose to not analyse my feelings for Harry too closely, but to rather leave them as they were."

"Why?" she asked, genuinly wanting to understand his reasons.

He sighed. "Because hatred was what the Dark Lord expected me to feel for Potter, and that's what he found. I had no wish to do away with it. It was one less thing I had to hide and worry about."

"Well, you're obviously aware of those motivations now. So I guess that's one more step towards reconciling the image you wanted to nurture about Harry with the Harry you might possibly find if you chose to take a closer look at him now. You might be surprised... Apart from all the things you have wrong about his character, Harry has changed a lot in the last year."

Hermione knew that this was in part due to his near-death experience, which, as Harry had confessed to her, had put things into a totally different perspective for him. 'I'm not afraid of death anymore', he had explained during one of those rare discussions they had about the events connected with the war. 'Why would I, knowing that life goes on even after dying in this world? Dumbledore was right. Our deceased aren't gone – they've just been called into the next room, where we can't follow them until it's our turn.'

"He's been – much more tolerable this year," Severus reluctantly conceded.

Hermione grinned. "He's said the same about you. Even Ron admitted that, although he still calls you mean and a git."

"Well, I'm glad I have not completely lost my touch, then," he remarked drily. He cast a Tempus-charm and furrowed his brows on realising how late it had gotten. Funny, how time had flown. "This is enough for tonight," he said with his authoritative teacher's voice. "I have detentions to oversee tomorrow and the day after, with no time to spare. I'll put out a list with potions you can brew without my supervision. Now finish your tea and get back to your room, Miss Granger. You need your sleep."

"Yes, Sir," she replied obediently.

* * *

 _I'm starting to wonder if Luna might actually be a synaesthete. For those who have not ever heard of it: it's also called colour-hearing, and it's a condition where the brain mixes up the senses. Some musicians and composers have a form of synesthesia that allows them to 'see' music as colours or shapes, but there are other forms of synaesthesia, like hearing sounds in response to seeing motion. Synaesthetes often say that they did not know their experiences were unusual until they found out that other people did not have them. Maybe Luna can actually see 'scents' and 'feelings' and came up with an explanation that made sense to her?_


	10. A Damp Squib (And a Damp Witch)

Summary of Chapter Nine – The Subtle Art of Legilimency

Hermione and Severus are brewing in his private lab. Severus inquires about the whereabouts of his robe and is given a surprising explanation as to why she can't return it yet. While working, they discuss their last Occlumency lesson and wonder about the fact that Hermione still hasn't experienced any pain or discomfort. Severus forms a stunning theory about Legilimency. To test it and also to give her a better understanding of it, Severus lets Hermione perform Legilimency on him and is quite rattled by the results. When talking about Harry, Hermione subtly suggests that Severus should talk to him and finally tell him the entire truth about his past.

* * *

 **A Damp Squib (and a Damp Witch)**

Unwarding his office with a flick of his wand, Severus threw the door open and ushered the shivering mess of a girl inside. He had thought it a great idea to take his brewing assistant out into the Forbidden Forest to collect Snowthornbush seeds this evening, figuring that a harvesting trip would be a welcome change of routine. She had spent most evenings in his lab or his office, correcting essays and assisting him with the brewing of a more complex healing potion he made for St. Mungos. To his surprise, working with her had been quite agreeable – if he were so inclined, he'd even go as far as to say 'delightful'.

When he suggested the field trip, she had seemed outright excited at the prospect of heading into the forest with him, Merlin knew why. Whatever she had expected to happen, it probably wasn't the heavy, icy rain that had come as a nasty surprise after days and days of light snowfall. It had started just as they had made it halfway to the clearing he had meant to take her to, and within minutes, they had both been drenched to the skin – she worse than him, as she didn't seem to possess a decent, water repelling winter coat, either.

With a muttered 'Incendio' Severus quickly re-ignited the fire. As soon as she had peeled her useless, thoroughly soaked coat off her, he turned one of his handkerchiefs into a thick blanket which he threw over her shoulders. It was the only reason he carried handkerchiefs in his pocket at all times – it always gave him something that was easy enough to transfigure.

Hermione gratefully pulled the blanket around her and put her wand underneath it to spell her clothes dry. She was cold to the point of numb.

Severus quickly headed into his private quarters to change into a dry set of clothes as well. When he re-emerged, he carried a tea tray and a bottle of Odgen's Finest. He hadn't intended to share Firewhiskey with her again before she had graduated, but this seemed like a medical emergency.

He found the petite witch still huddled close to the fire, looking very much like a wet cat. Her hair seemed to have soaked up an enormous amount of water, given that the tresses had almost doubled in length. It would take forever to dry like that.

Hermione turned when she heard his footsteps approach, but the smile vanished from her lips before it had fully formed when she saw him raising his wand at her.

"No, please! Don't!" she cried out, but the spell had left his lips before her panic could fully register with him, and he was left to wonder what the hell she thought he was throwing at her.

The reason for her fear, however, became clear as soon as his well intended spell hit its target. Her hair instantly blew up as if electrocuted, almost as if every single strand had been transformed into thin wire. It was sticking out from her scalp in all directions, defying gravity.

"Why did you do that?" she wailed, her hands going into the mop on her head, trying in vain to smooth it down. Just as unsuccessfully, Severus tried to keep his expression straight when looking at the embarrassed, irritated and despaired witch. Seeing her frown in indignation with her Medusa-like hair puffing around her small face was just too much. He felt a smile twitching in the corners of his mouth – it widened, stretching facial muscles he didn't use all that often, and his diaphragm began to vibrate. He barely managed to set the tray safely on his desk before he failed to contain the rumbling sounds that rose from his chest. He laughed.

Hermione stared at him, her anger turning into astonishment, then awe. Severus Snape was laughing. And what a beautiful sound it was – rich and deep and hearty. It completely transformed his rather severe, perpetually frowning face, made the wrinkles on his forehead disappear and gave him the appearance of a man ten years younger. For the first time ever, he looked happy. If that was what it took to put that expression on his face, she'd gladly dry spell her hair every day from now on.

"I... I apologise, Granger..." he finally breathed between his chuckles. "I really had no idea..."

"Well, I'm glad it amuses you so much," she huffed, trying to hide the truth of her statement behind annoyance. "I've always had this troublesome hair. It's horrid."

"No, it's not," he assuaged, trying to get his features under control again. He hadn't meant to be mean. And her hair wasn't all that horrible. "It's just ... there is so much of it. It's enough for three people. Honestly, it's fine – as long as you don't use drying spells on it."

"Thank you so much for telling me!" she said sarcastically. "It only took me a couple of years to figure it out."

"Really?" he asked curiously, handing her the steaming tea to which he had added a shot of whiskey. "The effect seemed rather instantaneous."

"Do you remember how it looked when I was a child? I thought it was normal for my hair to be so bushy. I never realised that I was unconsciously using magic to dry it. I hated the feeling of water dripping down my back after washing it, so I guess that's one of the areas where my magic first showed itself. My mum always wondered how my thick hair could dry so quickly."

That was a strange manifestation of uncontrolled magic in a child. It seemed rather – controlled. But then, it was Hermione Granger they were talking about.

"I always hated my hair," she said unhappily, sitting down on the chair she had pulled to the fire and sipping from her cup. "It was always bushy or frizzy, and made me look as if I never combed it. That's why I liked it better the way it was those last couple of months."

"I don't think there's a single person alive who is really happy with their hair," he answered, levitating the books off his other chair and pulling it closer to the fire as well. "Lily hated that hers was red, mine is greasy and Draco complains his is too light and too fine. And I can't imagine that Potter is happy with the perpetual mess on his head, either. Your hair seems to be very sensitive to your magic – to any magic, considering the effect of the drying spell... But obviously, it's where your excess magic automatically went when you were a child. And now that your reserves are low, the magic is no longer in it, which makes it look so tame."

"Well, I think some of my magic has been returning to it lately, as it's started to get bothersome again," she said, seemingly frustrated.

"You should be happy about that. It's a good sign. The fact that you are getting at least a little more sleep and that your reserves are not drained anymore by hauling a ton of weight behind you all the time probably is beginning to show effect." He smirked. "Now you just have to figure out what to do about that bird's nest I accidentally put on your head..."

"There's nothing to be done about it but getting it wet again," she sighed, putting her empty cup onto the tray. "I'm off to take a nice, warm shower." She peeled off the blanket and turned to fold it. He let out a strangled gasp and almost spit out his tea. "Good gracious, Granger – what in Merlin's name happened to your clothes?"

Wide-eyed he stared at her attire, he couldn't help it. It looked as if it belonged to a third year – her shirt and cardigan were at least two sizes too small; they didn't even cover her entire stomach and were way too tight around her chest. The skirt was a lot shorter than decent, barley reaching her mid-thigh. The only piece of clothing that still looked normal in size were her apparently stretchable tights. All in all, there was little left to imagination. She looked like a woman squeezed into a parody of a school girl's uniform for some kinky role-playing. As if he had needed a visualisation of that!

Hermione seemed to notice the state of her outfit only now. She blushed profoundly. "Sorry! That was the drying spell!" she said in dismay, trying in vain to pull the skirt down. "It looks as if it's not only my hair that doesn't take kindly to it... I have no idea how the house-elves do it."

Oh God, and she had thought her hair was embarrassing! Hopefully he wouldn't think that she had done it on purpose. Being sexually aggressive was not in her DNA – she was way too shy for that. And just because she had indulged in certain, rather kinky fantasies about him and herself, it didn't mean that she was at all ready to experience them. If she had known they were about to hike into the forest, she wouldn't have put on her school uniform in the first place. But she had come to the dungeons right after dinner and had merely summoned her cloak, scarf and knit hat when he had informed her about his plans.

"The house-elves have their own special drying spell for clothes," Severus muttered, still staring at her with shock, amusement and consternation, but much to his embarrassment also with a twinge of arousal. Despite her rather delicate frame, she had a lot of womanly curves, and underneath those all too tight clothes, they clearly showed.

"You can't walk through the castle like that!" he stated firmly. "Where's your coat?" Before she could notice his dilemma, he quickly got up and went for it, but the sorry excuse for a winter garment was still dripping wet.

"Don't you dare using a drying spell on that!" Hermione admonished, grabbing it from his hands before he could raise his wand. "I happen to like that one."

He sighed and took the blanket again, transfiguring it into a piece of black cloth now that loosely resembled a school robe, at least as long as no one took a closer look at it. He was no dressmaker. "Then I'm afraid this will have to do," he grunted, handing her the makeshift garment.

Obediently, she slipped into the robe and looked a bit wistfully at the one he was wearing. Too bad. There went her chance at getting a freshening up of his scent. It would have been worth the embarrassment of standing in front of him like the centrefold of some naughty schoolgirl pin-up.

Noticing her longing gaze, he firmly shook his head. "Oh no – I'm not going to 'lend' you my robe again! I'm afraid I'll never see it back."

She had the audacity to grin at that. "Thank you, still. I wish we had at least managed to gather some Snowthornbush seeds tonight."

"Well, there's always another time." He cleared his throat. "Now – don't dawdle, Miss Granger. It's the second, rather large transfiguration to be applied to the same small piece of cloth. It won't hold for long. And you don't want to be caught in the hallway wearing next to nothing with a handkerchief on your shoulder."

No, she'd rather not. She'd be the fodder of gossip for weeks.

Her professor showed her to the door. "I'll see in class on Monday. Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night, Sir."

When the door fell shut behind her, he warded it again, fell back into his chair and, with a groan, reached for the bottle of firewhisky.

*'*'*'*'*'*

Severus paced between the work-tables, supervising the brewing of what was supposed to be the Draught of Living Death. What he found in most of his students' cauldrons though was a nasty smelling concoction that was serviceable at best to cause migraines. He could already feel the pressure building inside his head and noticed that most of the students seemed to be doing their best to avoid breathing as much as possible. They probably were longing for the class to end just as much as he did.

The only one who seemed completely unperturbed by the fetid fumes was Hermione. Whenever his gaze crossed hers, she looked at him with a serene, knowing smile that irritated him just as much as the stench in the classroom. What the hell was she thinking?

He briefly wondered if her amusement had anything to do with her clothes accident last Friday, but quickly dismissed the thought. She had seemed far too embarrassed herself to be mocking his own, natural reaction to it. Provided she had even noticed, which he still believed she hadn't. She was remarkably innocent in some areas. It was just his own sad psyche that still habitually deduced that every smile directed at him had to be a mocking one. Besides, he realised on second glance, the expression on Hermione's face wasn't an amused smirk at all, but rather a warm, affectionate smile. It still irritated him, as he had no explanation for her irrational behaviour.

"Miss Granger!" he finally berated her. "Stop grinning like an idiot and get back to work. In case you've forgotten, you're in Potions. This is not the fun class."

"Yes, Sir," she said, trying to look chastised. Her eyes continued smiling, however. She was the worst actress ever. It was fortunate that Miss Brown wasn't in his class anymore – she wouldn't have been fooled for a minute.

"See me after class," he ordered Hermione, curious to find out what had put her into such appallingly good spirits.

"Oi! What for?" protested the Weasley, who'd been following their brief exchange mouth agape. "She didn't do anything but smile! Doing it here admittedly is weird, but neither forbidden nor dangerous!"

"Hush, Ron! It's okay," Hermione whispered.

"No, Hermione, it's not! Just because you're helping him brew doesn't mean you have to allow him to step all over you."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry hissed, before she had a chance to respond. "Hermione is perfectly capable of handling this herself."

Ron opened his mouth to protest again, but Severus had turned with an extra dramatic billowing of his robe and gave his signature frown. "Mr. Weasley, if you are keen on assisting Mr. Filch this evening, by all means – do continue. Otherwise you'd better get back to work. And I suggest you take a good look at the ingredients on your table before you drop in the Doxy Eggs."

Confused, the intellectually challenged boy's eyes roamed his table, then widened. He had been about to precede to step five of the recipe before having added the Knotgrass, which would have – quite spectacularly – ruined his potion. He looked up at the Potions Professor again, not sure if he should be angry, embarrassed or grateful. Fortunately, he decided to let the matter rest, grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and hastened to correct his mistake.

Class continued without any further incident. When it was over, Hermione silently beckoned her friends to follow the rest of the students out of the student's lab. Severus could see Potter pull the Weasley boy with him, throwing a conspiratorial glance at Hermione.

"Care to tell me what that was all about, Miss Granger?" Severus asked when she approached his desk. "Why in Merlin's name are you beaming at me like the cat that got the cream? Your classmates must think you've lost your mind."

"You spoke to Harry," she said softly, and it almost hurt to see how much it meant to her – to know that he held this much power over her state of mind. He now was immensely glad that he hadn't bailed at the last moment. Talking to the boy with whom he shared such history had been on his to-do-list for quite some time – pretty much since the first time the obstinately well-meaning witch had brought up the issue. But he had been too much of a coward to act until now, for many reasons.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, well... I thought I'd give it a try and listen to someone else's advice for a change – just to see if the concept has merit."

"And did it?"

"It has been a novel experience, for sure." Both – acting on her suggestion and talking amiably to Potter. And it had been mostly amiable – albeit awkward. "It went better than expected. But surely you knew that already... or am I wrong to assume that Mr. Potter has already given you all the details?"

"It's okay to call him Harry, you know," she said with mild amusement. "He's your godson, after all."

"Let's not go overboard with familiarity," he said, half jestingly, half seriously. He probably should have offered to his godson to call him by his given name, but it had seemed strange, given their history. Even more so since he still called her 'Miss Granger', which was getting stranger by the day. He found himself slipping more and more often when he thought of her. But while he felt that he had formed a kind of bond with her that would have justified calling her by her given name under different circumstances, he had no such bond with Potter, godson or not. They could always re-evaluate some five years down the road, depending on how their relationship developed.

"Harry was certainly dumbstruck after your revelation," Hermione said, without giving away how much Harry had told her about his private talk with his Potions Professor. She also hadn't told Harry that she had known for a long time what said professor had revealed to him. It was a bit of a difficult situation for her – finding her loyalty divided between two people who had always hated each other and who now both meant so much to her. It had been a heavy burden on her conscience for some time now that she had secretly been 'fraternising with the enemy', as Ron had once called her association with Viktor Krum.

"Yes," he said dryly. "His open-hanging mouth, the blank shock in his eyes and the fact that he wasn't able to form a coherent sentence after I told him had hinted at that."

"But I understand he took it rather well once the initial shock had faded?" Hermione asked, wanting to hear his side of the story as well. She wished nothing more than for Harry, whom she loved like a brother, and her professor, whom she could well imagine to love as a man, to get over their difficult and burdened past and to reach an agreement, if not a reconciliation.

"I admit, I was rather astonished." Harry had even apologised to him for misjudging him all these years – as if he'd had any reason not to. He had expected accusations and reproach – not only for being indirectly responsible for the death of his parents, but also for treating him rather abysmally all these years. It had been particularly painful to explain his reasons for doing so, but he figured he owed him that much. Severus was fully aware of the fact that he carried most of the blame for their abysmal relationship. Yes, Harry had been a rule-breaker displaying the typical Gryffindor bluntness and recklessness, and yes, he had often acted disrespectfully and with the aggressive rebellion of a teenager, but Severus had quite willingly mistaken it for arrogance, impertinence and conceitedness. It was what he had wanted to see. It had justified his deep dislike for the boy, which in truth had been the cloak he had put over his grief, his loss, his failure and his guilt.

Trying to explain that had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. He certainly wasn't the type to talk about his feelings. Thankfully, the boy wasn't either. And surprisingly, Potter had understood without Severus actually having to spell it out in blunt detail. 'It's not necessary to ask forgiveness', he had said, and before Severus had stood a chance to tell him that he wasn't even thinking about doing such a thing, he had continued: 'You earned it a long time ago.' Severus had been dumbfounded. He was surrounded by people who were obviously living the Christian message. They'd probably tell him 'love thy enemy' next. 'I'm not sure if I believe in forgiveness,' he had answered stiffly, a bit taken aback by the freely offered absolution he hadn't expected and wasn't sure he wanted.

The boy had just shrugged. 'I do. It's basically what Dumbledore always went on about. He called it love, but I think what he meant is forgiveness as an essential aspect of it. Like Hermione said, we can't move on if we can't grant it or receive it'. Severus had grumbled, but in truth, he had been impressed. His arch-nemesis sounded wise and mature all of a sudden. How had that happened? Hermione must have rubbed off on him.

'Miss Granger has a very special view on quite many things...' he had assented. 'Revolutionary ideas paired with intelligence and stubborn determination. She's – dangerous.'

Harry had nodded solemnly. 'Yes, Ron finds her scary, too. But then, so are you. So I guess this will work out.'

At that, Severus had looked up with alarm. What had Hermione told her friend? Did Potter know? It couldn't be – he wouldn't be sitting here talking to him calmly if he did. 'What exactly are you referring to?' he had asked a bit too sharply.

'You and her working together, of course,' Harry had said unsuspectingly, and Severus had let out an internal breath of relief. Potter's views on forgiveness would truly be challenged if Severus ever came to make reality of some of the other things he would love doing to his godson's friend...

"Professor?" the girl in question interrupted his musings. "Have you told Harry about your and Dumbledore's plans for Harry to become master of the Elder Wand?"

"No. His deductive skills certainly are not as honed as yours are. He still thinks it was just about granting Dumbledore a quick and painless death, me gaining a position of trust within the Dark Lord's ranks and Draco's soul being saved the consequences of murder. And I believe the last point did have considerable weight in the list of reasons for my actions. He seemed impressed that I took my obligations as Draco's godfather this seriously. And he's probably grateful that his love interest still has his soul intact."

"I'm sure he is. It's probably better that he didn't figure it out. It'd be a shock for him to learn how far Dumbledore was willing to go for the sake of the greater good. Harry idolised him. In his opinion, he was almost omniscient and practically a saint."

Severus snorted. "Hardly. He was just more observant than most, and knew how to pull people's strings. In fact, that was a talent he shared with the Dark Lord."

Hermione gave him a disbelieving glance.

"What?" he asked. "Are you doubting that Dumbledore knew how to manipulate or that an evil man like the Dark Lord was good at finding out what his followers desired?"

"I don't doubt either, thinking about it. I just haven't realised before that 'being good with people' doesn't necessarily mean that you're 'good'. Dumbledore didn't rule with fear, but appealed to one's conscience and the greater good, which was, after all, emotional blackmail."

"They both knew how to best motivate people do their bidding. But don't think the Dark Lord ruled by fear and malevolence only. Fear only gets you so far – you risk alienating people and eventually turning them against you. No, the Dark Lord used his Legilimency skills to find out what people longed for, and he tried his best to give it to them. A lot of his followers craved status and power, others worldly riches. Then there were a few who had a sadistic streak, and he gave them opportunity to satisfy those urges, too."

"What did he offer you?" It was an intimate question, and Hermione was almost sure that he would end their conversation at this point. But to her surprise, he answered: "Companionship. Respect. The opportunity to gain a mastery in potions. Looking back, it seems I sold my soul for very little." At the time, it had seemed to him that his soul had been of little worth to begin with. His lack of self-esteem as an adolescent, his pitiful appearance and his social awkwardness had made him an easy victim for the bullies. The Dark Lord had recognised his talents and had presented him not only with an opportunity to hone them to perfection, but had offered him the company of people who respected him for his competence. He became the youngest Potion Master in Britain in centuries – and he was too honest to not take pride in the fact.

He was also given opportunity to study the Dark Arts, a subject he'd always been fascinated with. Not because he'd wanted to find more twisted means of inflicting torture and causing death, but because he valued every kind of knowledge, especially that which was forbidden and thus seemed all the more enticing. It promised power. And power was a means of self-defence. But even when being young and foolish he had always been intelligent enough to be aware of the dangerous allure of the Dark Arts, and had always treated them with respectful caution.

His accomplishments and the recognition he received had given him self-confidence. And the more confident he was, the more people seemed to respect, but also to fear him, as his confidence hadn't made him more sociable. He still hadn't been a pleasant man to be around, not even in the eyes of Death Eaters. But with them, his unpleasantness had been a matter of choice rather than misery.

Unaware of his musings, Hermione responded to his assumption that he had sold himself too cheap. "Since you are still in full possession of your soul, maybe you didn't sell it at all. Voldemort never really owned you."

"Didn't he?" he asked, wondering if her innocence would make it impossible for her to comprehend his darker side – the motivation that had driven him to seek power in all the wrong places.

"No," she said, full of conviction. "Even when you were still with him, before you even changed sides and pledged your allegiance to Dumbledore, you promised Lily that you would protect her son – in honour of your friendship and the love you once felt for her. That's not the action of a soulless man."

For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Somehow, she constantly managed to pull out his most firmly rooted beliefs, give them a good shake and turn them upside down with cheerful ease. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this.

"You have a gracious way of looking at people, Miss Granger," he finally said. "Although I'm not sure if agree with your views... please know they're appreciated."

Instinctively, she reached out for his hand giving it a firm squeeze. "I'm glad," she said. "And please know that what you've done – what you're doing – is greatly appreciated as well. Just in case you didn't already know."

He knew that she was not talking about his role in the war, but about offering the olive branch to her dearest friend, for making an effort in spite of himself and for trying to help her, even if it meant opening up in a way that didn't come easy to him. Squeezing her hand back for the duration of about three heartbeats and seeing her warm eyes fill with emotion, he felt it was worth all of his efforts.

"You'll be late for lunch," he then said, taking back his hand. "I shouldn't have kept you for so long."

"It's okay. I'm not very hungry. I'll just eat a little more for dinner."

"Go and eat, Miss Granger!" he admonished. "I'll see you for another Occlumency lesson tonight, and for that, you'll need your strength."

* * *

 _A/N: English is an amazing language! When I looked for the translation of a failed event (which in German is something that fell into the water) and found it translated as a 'damp squib' I couldn't resist. I had no idea that the word 'squib' even existed outside Ms. Rowling's universe. :)_


	11. The Prying Potion and Pureblood Pride

Summary of Chapter Ten – A Damp Squib

Severus takes Hermione into the Forbidden Forest to collect potion ingredients, and both get drenched by a sudden onset of rain. When trying to warm up again in his office, Hermione's hair and clothes suffer an embarrassing accident with a drying spell.  
In her next potion lesson, Hermione behaves a bit unorthodoxly. She has learned that Severus has followed up on her advice to talk to Harry in order to mend their relationship. Severus keeps her back after class and tells her about this conversation, which, to his surprise, has gone reasonably well. They share another moment of emotional closeness in which Hermione once more expresses her fundamental belief in the goodness of his heart.

 _A/N: Just a fair warning for this chapter: Severus and Hermione might have gotten a little carried away with their philosophical discussion about pureblood ideology, though I did throw in Shrivelfigs for some juicy bits..._

* * *

 **The Prying Potion and Pureblood Pride**

"With your permission, I would like to try something different today," Severus said, when Hermione had expectantly taken seat in her chair for their third Occlumency lesson. "Something that might help heighten your awareness to what's going on in your mind." He reached into the drawer of his desk and handed her a small flask that was filled with a translucent potion. "I would like you to drink this."

She reached for the vial and looked at it with interest. "What is it?"

"A potion that brings down your mental shields."

The look she gave him was full of questions, but devoid of apprehension. "I didn't know that a potion existed that could do that..."

"Officially, it doesn't. I developed this a long time ago as a gift for the Dark Lord."

His expression was controlled as ever and didn't reveal what he was thinking. But it seemed to her that he was waiting for a specific reaction. "Why would you develop something that made it easier for him to legilimise people?" she posed the question that was begging to be asked – immediately followed by an understanding "Oh!" when the answer became clear almost instantly.

"I was a true Death Eater at some point, Miss Granger," Severus said darkly. "Creating this potion was my way to prove my worth to him – and to thank him for his support in gaining my mastery.

"It was probably of little consequence, anyway," Hermione played down his contribution to the Dark Lord's advent to power. "A strong Legilimens like him would have gotten into people's minds no matter what. At least with the potion, he didn't have to torture them first."

"The Dark Lord didn't need to resort to physical violence to break someone's defences. He just tore in, not caring what he damaged in the process. Unfortunately, it left people incapacitated who proved innocent or didn't know anything. This potion made it possible to dive into people's minds without them being aware of it. At the time, I was rather proud of my invention, so I can't claim having developed it purely for the greater good. But it proved to be a blessing in disguise after his return, as it saved key people from being abducted for questioning and from having their brains irrevocably damaged in the process All you needed in order to explore their minds was an accomplished Legilimens with an opportunity to slip this into someone's drink. A lot of times, I was the one sent out to pick people's brains, which was most fortunate, as it allowed me to keep their most dangerous secrets from the Dark Lord and to even obliviate incriminating evidence from their minds."

"I take it Dumbledore knew about the potion?"

He threw her a curious glance. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I believe I just figured out the mystery of his lemon sherbets and think that I was right to be wary of them."

"Very astute, Miss Granger!" he congratulated her, once more impressed with the quick workings of her mind. No one apart from him had known that Dumbledore's obsession with sweets had been more than just a funny quirk and that the benign headmaster had found nothing amiss with a little snooping with the help of innocent looking lemon drops. After all, he never meant to harm anyone with the knowledge he gained and was, as always, convinced that the intent justified the methods. "I told him about the Prying Potion after my defection. He made me work on an antidote to protect the minds of key people and order members. Kind of ironic, isn't it? I made the first potion to prove my loyalty to the Dark Lord, and the antidote to prove my loyalty to Dumbledore."

"Did Voldemort ever make you take the potion as well?"

"Me, and all his Death Eaters. He was very distrustful after his return. He slipped it into my drink a couple of times to see what he'd find if he caught me unaware. He had no idea that it didn't make a difference to me. I was trained to recognise someone's presence in my mind, and since my protections were no longer based on sustaining walls, I was still fully able to occlude my thoughts."

"Why do you want me to take it?" she inquired, her voice curious, not concerned. "You can get into my mind easily enough."

"Yes, but attacking your barrier requires eye contact, costs both of us unnecessary energy, and alerts you to my presence in your mind the moment I manage to breach your defences. Without shields, I can enter your mind wandlessly and non-verbally, any time." Besides, attacking her mental barriers was not something he enjoyed. Sooner or later, she would find a way to make them strong enough to require brutal force. He could only hope that she would have figured out how to consciously lower them by then.

"Hah! So you _could_ read the minds of pupils in your class, if you wanted to!"

"Only if I slipped Prying Potion into their pumpkin juice right beforehand. It's efficient only for one or two hours, depending on the dosage. And apart from the fact that it's difficult and time-intensive to brew, the ingredients are also expensive. Nothing to idly waste for listening in on the mindless babbling of teenagers."

"What's so bad about me knowing the exact moment you're entering my mind? Wouldn't that be rather helpful?"

"When trying to fend off an outside attack, yes. But that's not what this is all about. I want for you to heighten your awareness and get a feel for the difference between your natural thought process and thoughts that seem to appear randomly because they are triggered by something – or in this case – by someone else."

"I see. It's another way to make me aware of how my mind works?"

"Hopefully, yes. But I don't know how successful this approach is. Apart from our mutual friend, you're the first person I've tried to teach Occlumency."

"You didn't use the potion with Harry?"

He snorted. "Do you think he would have drunk anything I offered him before an Occlumency lesson? I doubt he would have accepted a glass of pumpkin juice from me if he was short of dying from thirst."

"Probably because you threatened to put Veritaserum into it in our fourth year," Hermione mused.

"Probably," he agreed, then raised a questioning brow at her. "Now, are you going to take the potion or are you trying to keep me talking until you've figured out how to shuffle out of the situation without actually telling me 'no'?"

In truth, he had expected her to simply refuse him outright. Not that he would blame her. When he had taken the potion, he had at least been safe in the knowledge that his mind wasn't entirely defenceless. She has no such reassurance and must feel uncomfortable and rather nervous at the prospect.

But she merely rolled her eyes, took the vial out of his hands and emptied it in one gulp. "Wow," she muttered in mild surprise, "such a potentially evil potion, and it's the first I ever took that tastes tolerable."

He gave her another bewildered look. Would she ever act as he expected? It was almost as if she did everything in her power to throw him off balance. And then, as if to prove this theory right, Hermione looked up with a thoughtful expression and said lightly: "You do realise that, in the light of your latest theory on Legilimency, you just gave me the magic equivalent of a date-rape drug?"

"Excuse me?" Severus froze in shock.

She seemed unfazed. "Well, if entering another person's mind by force is rape, then a potion that makes you oblivious to such an act is exactly that."

Dear Merlin, she was right! He had never looked at Legilimency in a sexual context before. It had merely been a weapon. Yes, it was unethical to skim people's minds and look for their secrets, he'd always been aware of that. But he'd still done it, understanding that it was necessary at the time. But with his new understanding about the true intimacy of Legilimency... the nagging suspicion that under different circumstances it could be something incredible, amazing, something sacrosanct... it made using the potion on her blasphemy. He didn't even wish to think too closely about everything that was wrong about it.

"Then why, by Merlin's beard, did you take it?" It cost him tremendous effort not to shout at her.

She still failed to see what was amiss. "Because I know you won't take advantage," she simply said, oblivious of his turmoil.

Severus fell into his chair, feeling as if he had an iron band around his chest that restricted his breathing. She didn't understand. How could she?

"We will stop this," he said firmly. "If you go to your room now and stay there for the next two hours, you'll be fine."

"What? Why?" She looked at him intently now, searching his face for an explanation and finally realising that her remark had shaken him. She instantly became apologetic. "I shouldn't have said that about the potion. It was just a thing that popped into my mind – it was totally uncalled for. I really didn't mean to insinuate..."

"Will you please stop apologising all the time?" he said, slightly exasperated. "It's not your fault. You were right."

"No! I wasn't. It was stupid. You won't do anything different than you did before, right? You promised you won't go looking for anything private. It doesn't make a difference if you go into my mind after circumventing my miserable attempt at a shield, or if you go in with no shields in place to begin with. I'm fully aware of what's happening, and you have my consent, so my comparison sucks, anyway. There's nothing to worry about. Please – I want to do this!"

Her face, as usual, was open as a book. He saw none of the emotions that should be there: discomfort, unease, fright. There wasn't even nervousness, just honesty, trust and concern for his feelings. He could either accept it or send her away without an explanation.

"Fine," he finally decided. "But here's what we'll do: I will only look for very specific, inconspicuous memories we agree upon beforehand, so you'll know exactly what I am looking for."

"Fine with me."

"I will not follow your emotions or dig into your subconscious at all. I'll just try to send thoughts at you so as to direct yours in a specific direction."

"Okay."

"When you realise that your thoughts suddenly seem to drift towards the memory I'm trying to find, you will tell me so and I will stop the attempt immediately."

"Yes. I understand."

Her willingness to comply with his instructions seemed to relax him a bit. "So, what shall I be searching for?" he asked. "It should be something inconsequential, like... what you ate for dinner?"

Hermione nodded, feigning casualness. If she hesitated now, he'd blow the whole thing off.

"And how about your last conversation with Harry?"

Of course he had to choose that! She wondered if it was a good idea to let him see it or not. But then again, it was probably better if he was warned. Tentatively, she nodded again.

He felt the need to reassure her again. "My promise still stands. You have nothing to worry about."

"I know."

"Now then – let's do some brewing."

At that, she looked confused. "We're going to brew?"

"Yes, of course. Sitting at my desk and staring deeply into each others' eyes for the next two hours kind of negates the idea of my invasion being subtle and out of the blue."

"I thought you still needed eye contact to perform Legilimency..."

"Under normal circumstances, it is impossible to overcome someone's natural defences without eye contact, unless the person is exceptionally weak-minded or the Legilimens exceptionally strong. But due to the potion, you have no shields right now." He sent a brief stray thought at her, the image of a barn door, wide open.

She didn't react. Obviously, the image was too related to her own thought process to strike her as odd and alien. He sent the picture of a monkey, wearing a pink tutu.

For a brief moment, she looked confused, then she raised a questioning gaze. "Did you just...?"

He smirked. "That, and the barn door. Just to give you an idea what it feels like. I'll be trying to make you think about dinner and your latest discussion with Harry."

"Don't keep saying that!" Hermione complained. "Otherwise, the game is over before it's begun, as it makes me think about it immediately."

Severus chuckled. "Then let's get you distracted... Come on!"

He opened the hidden door to his private lab and led the way to the work table. Putting a stasis charm on the potion he had left to simmer earlier, he began clearing the table to make room for her.

"What have you been brewing?" she inquired, always interested in his work.

"Oh – that... It's nothing."

"Nothing? How can you be brewing nothing?"

"Nothing of importance." He moved the cauldron aside, brought the utensils that needed cleaning to the sink and put the multiple jars of ingredients, one after the other, back onto the shelve. Hermione wondered why he looked slightly embarrassed. What could the mysterious potion be that he didn't want to talk about?

She grabbed one of the remaining jars to help him put them away. Daisy roots – they went to the top shelf. Standing in front of it, Hermione had to stretch to reach it. Sometimes it was really a bother being small. She had almost managed to push the jar onto the board, when she caught a glimpse of the Shrivelfigs in the jar right next to it and got distracted. They looked delectable: purple, juicy and sweet. A picture of the treacle tarts Ron loved so much came to her mind. They were often served as dessert, but tonight...

Realising where her trail of thoughts was leading to, Hermione sharply turned her head to look at her professor. The movement unbalanced her. The jar wobbled precariously, threatening to come toppling down any moment, but before it could happen, he had quickly stepped behind her and raised his arm. Effortlessly, he pushed the jar back onto the shelf.

Hermione turned fully around, and all her senses went into overdrive. She was standing beneath his outstretched arm, with his body only inches from hers, so close that she thought she cold feel the warmth emanating from him. She noticed how incredibly tall he was compared to her. Her eyes were just level with his collar bone and she fit under his chin comfortably. Even physically, the man was slightly overwhelming, a fact she found strangely attractive. He seemed so firm and steadfast, someone to lean on. They had stood like this once before, and then he had pulled her close to him and had kissed her...

Her heart picked up a beat at the sweet memory she had tried so hard to keep buried. The urge to lean into him, to breathe in his scent and feel his warmth again was great. When she made an unconscious movement towards him, however, he hastened to take his arm down and step aside. As quickly as the moment had come, it had passed.

"Careful, Miss Granger," he warned softly, "you had better keep your wits about you..."

She wasn't sure whether he was referring to her reacting to his nearness, her almost dropping the jar because she had let herself be distracted, or his almost-success in drawing the desired information out of her. She decided on the latter, if only to dispel the slight tension that had arisen with her emotional upheaval.

"That was a rather blunt try!" she said, trying not to let him notice how quick her heart was beating. "They didn't even serve treacle cake tonight."

He merely raised his brows in a way that was fraught with meaning, but didn't comment.

Stepping back to the worktable she nodded towards the cauldron that he had put under stasis. "So, is this a top secret potions project?" she asked in a slightly teasing tone.

"Of course not. If it was, I wouldn't allow anyone to see it."

How funny – he was really evading an answer! She almost wished he had taken the Prying Potion. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Curious as ever, Miss Granger, aren't you?" he asked back, then sighed resignedly. "Well, if you must know: It's just toothpaste."

"Toothpaste?" Hermione furrowed her brows. "You're brewing your own toothpaste? Why not simply buy it?"

He shot her a disdainful look. "Have you ever read what Muggles put into it?"

"Well, yes, but I don't understand half of it."

"My point exactly. It's disgusting."

Hermione's eyes went to one of the other jars he'd put back on the shelf and raised her brow. "And Flobberworm Mucus isn't?"

"No," he claimed firmly. "It is harmless and tasteless, and contrary to most Muggle products, it doesn't cause cancer. The powdered seashells, the daisy roots and the Bicorn horn powder make it smooth and pasty. Beside the potential health risks, I don't particularly care for the strong peppermint taste people seem to think obligatory in toothpaste. It's far too strong and clings to your tastebuds forever, overpowering your sense of smell. Not a desirable effect for a potioneer."

Hermione bent her head and sniffed at the paste. "This actually does smell rather nice..." she conceded. "Lemony. And do I detect – salvia and lavender?"

"Yes. I tried something new." Severus saw the same look on her face that she usually wore when burning to ask a question, but feeling unsure if she was allowed to ask it. "What?" he inquired, knowing that he wouldn't have a calm minute until she had voiced whatever was on her mind.

"It's just that... when you said you were going to do more research I hadn't thought it to be toothpaste," she said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Were you expecting something revolutionary? Like an all-heal potion to help people like the Longbottoms?"

"Maybe, yes."

"There are a few potion projects I'm working on that are probably more to your liking, including a potion that might help bring back lost memories. But they're fairly complex, and still require a lot of research, time and my undivided attention."

"You're working on a potion that might bring back lost memories?" She looked up hopefully. Surely, she was thinking of her parents.

"Dumbledore set me to work on it. He always feared that someone with crucial knowledge might end up obliviated." The potion was only in its first, theoretical stages. He simply hadn't had the time to work on it alongside his teaching and spying job. And with the Dark Lord and most Death Eaters gone, he had lost his incentive. But there was no reason why he shouldn't restart working on it.

Dumbledore... In her mind's eye, Hermione could almost see him sitting there at the staff table in the Great Hall, like he always had. His absence was still painfully obvious whenever her gaze wandered to the dais. Just tonight, when she had looked up from her dinner plate filled with...

Again, her eyes went wide in alarm and she looked up at him. How did he do that?

"Well done, Miss Granger," he praised her. "You seem to be getting the idea... Now, Madam Pomfrey asked me to ensure that there's a decent storage of Stomach Soothing Potion and Hangover Relief for the holidays. Get the Monkscaps, Bitterroots and Shrivelfigs from the cabinet, if you please, and start on the first. On second thought – no, don't try to reach the Shrivelfigs. I'd better handle the jars on the top shelves myself... at least until I have found a ladder for you."

"Hangover potion?" she inquired while she went for the other ingredients. "Are the students who are staying at the castle allowed to have alcohol for Christmas?"

"No, but the teachers are," he answered, smirking. "And there's New Year's Eve coming, too. Go ahead – you can start cutting the Bitterroots. Thin slices, please."

Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and got the utensils for her task. As if she didn't know after seven years in his class! Stomach Soothing Potion was on the second year syllabus. It tasted horrible, like most potions, probably due to the Bitterroot. She hadn't taken any for quite a long while, although her stomach seemed to be constantly in knots. She wondered if it could help her, too, even if her problems were certainly not the result of over-indulgence with food. In fact, the contrary might be true. Her stomach, after months of ever-present hunger, didn't seem to know what to do with food anymore and often reacted with cramps to the heavy fare served at Hogwarts – like tonight's stew. She hadn't eaten any.

"You haven't eaten anything for dinner?" Her professor asked, frowning disapprovingly. "After you had already skipped lunch?"

"You found out..." Disgruntled, Hermione kept her gaze on her cutting board.

"It was ridiculously easy. I suspect I can plant anything on you as long as it comes wrapped in logical context and is tied with a question."

"Looks like you found my weakness."

"I always knew it, Miss Granger. And now I also understand why you are still so thin! You didn't get enough to eat during your extended field trip last year?"

"We were staying out in the wilderness most of the time and had to make do with what we found on our foraging trips. In the beginning, I multiplied the food we found for us, but of course, that wasn't a long-term solution."

"You multiplied food?" Severus asked back, apalled at her lack of judgement. "That's not a solution at all! Surely you're aware that multiplied food gives you exactly the amount of energy that you expended when transforming it into calories it in the first place? It may briefly relieve your hunger and give your stomach something to do, but you're losing even more energy in the process of digesting it again!"

"Yes, I was aware of that. But the boys weren't... not until I told them." During their Hogwarts years, multiplying food had come in handy if one felt like sharing a snack in the Gryffindor common room. They hadn't used it very often, as transforming magical energy into matter based on the vague memory of what it should look or taste like gave you results that were always lacking compared to the real thing. Otherwise the twins wouldn't have sneaked into the kitchen that often. Ron and Harry had never bothered to understand Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration which said that conjuring, multiplying or even transforming anything by magical means basically translated to turning the performing wizard's energy into matter.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in vexation. And here he had thought she was smart. Her readiness to self-sacrifice knew no bounds. No wonder she had gotten so thin. Not only had she been suffering from apparent food-shortage, but she had also transfigured her own energies into actual food for the boys, starving herself in the process. "I hope your dunderhead friends were at least grateful for your noble sacrifice on their behalf," he said, irritated and distraught about the Golden Trio's lack in common sense. "Provided they were able to grasp it."

"You're doing them injustice again," Hermione said diapprovingly. "Harry and Ron were very upset with me for not telling them right away." Needless to say that she wasn't allowed to multiply any more food after that.

"And you're still not eating properly because the food served here is giving you stomach problems?" It wasn't surprising. The heavy Hogwarts fare was designed to give growing, ever-hungry teenagers the largest possible amount of carbohydrates with each meal. To make it go down smoothly and for flavour, everything was usually doused in fat.

She shrugged and continued chopping the Bitterroots. "I eat breakfast and a light lunch, but often what I eat for dinner lies like lead in my stomach and makes me sleep even worse."

"Well, if you went hungry over an extended period of time, you'll have to start slowly, with light, easy to digest fare. I'll speak to Minerva. Surly the house-elves will be able to cook up something for you. Until you can manage to eat properly, you should be taking a nutrient potion."

He walked over to the other side of the cabinets and took out a bottle, which he put in front of her. "Here, you may take this with you. Madam Pomfrey can give you more. The potion also has ingredients that are stomach-soothing. You need to get your physical reserves back, or your body will continue feeding on your magic."

Without explanation, he then went into his office rather abruptly and used the fireplace for a floo call. Hermione couldn't understand who he was talking to, but just shortly after he had joined her at the work table again, a sudden crack answered the question. A house-elf appeared – a slightly frightful expression on his face and a tray of sandwiches and a glass of juice in his hands. He sat it down on the table and disappeared before anyone could utter so much as a 'thank you'. It was either a matter of house-elf work-ethic or the poor thing was as intimidated by the Potions Professor as Neville.

"Eat," Severus ordered when he saw her slightly confused expression. "You can't afford to skip meals. Those sandwiches should be light enough. Now – pass me those roots so I can finish slicing them while you eat."

"Yes, Sir."

While Hermione obediently picked up a chicken sandwich, he started brewing both potions at once, preparing ingredients with the same practised ease and speed Hermione had seen chefs demonstrate in TV shows. He appeared not to be stressed at all, despite having two potions to oversee and to stir at regular intervals.

During the silence that came with her eating, Hermione was desperately trying to think of anything but her last conversation with Harry. "I just had an interesting discussion with Draco the other day," she said in between bites, happy to have found an entirely different topic to think about.

"Is that so?" he asked with a hint of amusement, fully aware of her intention.

"About the prejudice of Purebloods against Muggle-borns," she affirmed, not letting herself be deterred. "I asked him why he ever believed that people like me were inferior, when he saw this theory refuted in class every day."

Severus briefly looked up from his cauldrons. "And how did he answer that question?" he asked his interest piqued.

Hermione cleared her mouth. "He rolled his eyes at me and said – I quote: 'You still don't get it Granger, do you? It's never been about the blood'."

"Of course not," her professor agreed matter-of-factly. "I don't think even the Dark Lord himself believed that rubbish, especially since he was a half-blood himself. The only reason pureblood-supremacists called a crusade against Muggle-borns is because they regard them as a threat."

"Yes, that's exactly what Draco said, too," Hermione exclaimed agitatedly. "That Muggle-borns threaten their values, their traditions and their very existence. But that's utter rubbish! I'm not threatening anybody."

"No?" he asked disbelievingly and, raised his eyebrows at her. "Miss Granger, you're the epitome of a threat. Your are a prime example of Muggle values challenging wizarding ways. You're best friends with a werewolf and a half-giant. You advocate full rights for non-human magical creatures. You tried to liberate the house-elves in your fourth year!"

"I did, but I still don't see what's wrong with that!" Hermione said defensively. "True, I didn't understand at the time that most house-elves didn't appreciate my efforts on their behalf and didn't want to be freed. But non-human creatures are being treated unfairly by wizards, you can't deny that!"

She thought of Dobby, who only escaped mistreatment from the Malfoys thanks to Harry, of Winky, the poor creature, who had never been the same after her owner had kicked her out, and of Kreacher, who had become a rude, prejudiced and unfriendly creature due to the horrible witch he had lived to serve. Now that Harry treated him with respect and kindness, the elf had changed beyond recognition. He had become as devoted to Harry as Dobby had been. Hermine wondered what Draco would make of that, who hadn't seen the point in being friendly with house-elves. He might actually get a chance to witness the dynamic in that relationship, soon... Just before dinner, Harry had suggested...

Hermione looked up sharply. "Oh no, you don't!"

He smirked. "I almost had you."

"Almost," she admitted, finishing the last bit of the sandwich. "But you're playing unfair. How am I supposed to notice thoughts that are out of the ordinary if they are just a logical conclusion of my own thought process? I guess our way of thinking is much too similar for your pushed thoughts to strike me as odd."

"I very much doubt that, as most of your thought processes are completely beyond me – not to speak of their results."

"Well, coming from an indisputably intelligent person such a you, I guess I'll take that as a compliment to my intellect." Hermione put the tray aside and reached for the Shrivelfigs to start peeling them. There was no way he'd be able to prepare the fruit while attending two cauldrons, no matter how talented he was. Skinning figs was tedious and dirty work. Come to think of it, it was surprising that he didn't delegate that to house-elves. There were a lot of unpleasant, tedious task in the preparation of potion ingredients – like extracting beetle eyes, spider legs or Bubotubler pus – and yet she hadn't seen him order house-elves to do it for him. Or had he?

She asked him, but he shook his head in denial. "House-elves use magic for the tasks they are given. But you can't prepare ingredients for a potion by using magic. It makes for rather unexpected results."

"But if it were possible, would you make them do it?"

"Probably not. I have enough human hands available if I need them. But practical aspects aside, I always hope it teaches students a certain respect for the resources they carelessly squander by ruining their potions."

She remembered that he cleaned cauldrons requiring soap rather than magic by himself - out of consideration for a house-elf's tender skin. But he was not exemplary. Most wizards wouldn't have such scruples.

"It's not only house-elves that wizards often treat poorly," she tried a different example. "Think of Remus and how unfairly he's being treated by wizarding society."

"It's your Muggle belief in equality and fairness that makes you think the way you do," he argued back. "Muggles only deal with fellow humans – they never had to define their relationship with other sentient, self-aware beings, especially not with species whose very existence threatens them. Vampires feed on human blood. Giants, werewolves and a lot of other creatures consider humans fair prey, too. And then there are societies of sentient beings that function very differently even from wizard society, like those of Merpeople or the Centaurs. Equality and fairness is not a commonly shared concept of values."

"Then it's a good thing Muggle-borns question those beliefs!" Hermione insisted, her hands now covered with sticky, purple goo. She wondered if he knew a method to through the tough skin of the fruits that wouldn't result in such a mess. "Every culture needs contrarians and mavericks – people who take up contrary positions, who make people rethink beliefs that would otherwise be set in stone. The wizarding world has few enough of them. That's probably why wizard society is so backward in many ways."

"It's only slow changing compared to Muggle society. The reason for this is simple: The influence of technology forces Muggles to change much faster – new inventions continually revolutionise their every-day-lives, and consequently, their values and beliefs. And since the Muggle world is so much bigger that the small, isolated world wizards live in, there is more influence from other cultures. Muggle society is fluctuating, constantly re-inventing itself. Wizards don't have a need for that. The same heating spells, healing spells and combative spells that worked in the middle ages still work perfectly fine today."

"Well, it explains why wizarding society is still so Victorian – but what's wrong with a little bit of outside influence?"

Severus shook his head, wondering how to make her understand the point. "You probably think of it as enrichment, as 'modernising'," he said, having long forgotten his intent to find out about the conversation with Harry in the heat of discussion. "But not only do wizards lack appreciation and real understanding of the concept, but they fear it. Look at fashion: While wizards still dress pretty much like they did 100 years ago, the fashion of Muggle-borns coming to Hogwarts changes almost every year. It was quite an uproar when, some decades ago, the first Muggle-born witch showed up in trousers. Some young wizards let themselves be influenced by muggle fashion – look at the Weasleys. Charlie clearly was inspired by the hippy-movement. But traditional families – whose kids you find mostly in Slytherin – are very much appalled by that."

Hermione tried to imagine Draco styling his hair like Bill and wearing jeans and earrings. It made a funny picture. Draco was very sophisticated with regard to his clothes. Though she had caught him ogling Harry's jeans with interest the other day... Unless it had been his bum that had caught his gaze?

"Fashion doesn't really play a role here at Hogwarts anyway," she said, as pictures of Harry and Draco began pushing into her thoughts. So he had already deduced that Draco played a role in the conversation she was supposed to hide... clever man! "We're wearing school uniforms most of the time." She concentrated hard on her accident with the drying spell, trying to recall everything in vivid detail. Maybe two could play this game...

Hermione thought she briefly saw his eyes widen, before he got his thoughts and features back under control. He was far too disciplined to let himself be easily distracted, no matter how alluring the diversion. Still, she had successfully blocked his efforts to steer her thoughts towards Harry again.

"It's not just fashion," the Potions Master countered, adding the next ingredient to the Hangover Potion while continuing to stir the other in unfaltering rhythm. He wasn't even counting. Did he know by instinct when it was time to let the potion rest?

"Muggle-borns continuously trying to modernise our world. There have been numerous petitions to get Hogwarts connected to electricity."

"Really?" She looked up in surprise. "I thought it wasn't possible to get electric or electronic devices to work around magic."

"It might be difficult. But no one ever made a serious attempt to come up with a solution for the problem. Wizards don't need electricity."

"But Muggle-borns would definitely appreciate it! Telephones, for instance, would make it easier to keep in contact with friends and family! Do you have any idea how hard it is to leave everything and everyone behind? "

"Yes. I realised that when we were discussing your parents. I never had to deal with Muggle-borns in my house. But what you don't see is that forcing them to leave that life behind is intentional. You either become a part of wizarding society or you don't. You can't have the best of both worlds."

"I fail to understand why not!"

"Because for one thing, it threatens the statute of secrecy. Think of it – if communication with friends and families was easier, parents would learn much more about the goings-on at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world than when children can only write letters. It would make it much more difficult for the ministry of magic to keep things under control. You yourself have pointed out the problems which would arise if Muggle parents were more involved with the wizarding world."

Yes, that was doubtlessly true. Her mum certainly would have called Hermione at least once a week had Hogwarts been connected to the phone network. And it would have been next to impossible to keep from her what had happened in all of her Hogwarts years. One could only imagine what might happen with further technological advances in communication.

"But there is another reason," Severus added. "Purebloods would be sorely disadvantaged. They don't know anything about Muggle devices, couldn't use them and would feel left out. A person equally at home in both worlds is much more knowledgeable and powerful than a person who knows only one way to live. Thus, Muggle-borns are a potential threat."

"Is that why Muggle studies has such a horrible syllabus?" Hermione asked. "It paints a very weird picture of the Muggle word... Nothing is explained – the teacher just picks out bits and pieces without putting them in context and without covering the basics first." She remembered a particularly peculiar lesson, when Professor Burbage had brought a multiple power outlet strip to class and explained that the plug of an electric device had to be put into the socket to make it run. But she had never bothered to even explain what electricity was or how it ended up in a socket in the first place, and none of the students had though it odd and had asked about it.

"Ron didn't even know how to use a phone," she said, shaking her head. "The information given is good for nothing, and all in all the impression of the Muggle world is one of endearing oddness at best. No wonder purebloods look down on it."

"I'm sure that it's fully intentional. There must be a lot of Muggle-born ex-Hogwarts students who'd be capable of giving much more comprehensive insight. We both know I could teach Muggle studies better than Professor Bartleby. But the ministry doesn't want the Muggle world to seem too alluring for our young. The consequence of that, in the long run, would be a merging of our worlds. It would be the end of the wizarding world as we know it. It's what all wizards fear - not only traditionalists, but also liberal wizards. Dark Lord was so successful because he played on theses fears of being exposed, of being left behind, of having wizarding values, traditions and beliefs succumb to Muggle influence."

For the first time ever, Hermione understood what this war had really been about. She was a threat because she was viewed as embodiment of Muggle influence due to her origin and her power. And given the arguments she had just made, she had to admit that those fears were not completely unfounded. Still. It certainly didn't justify any of the crimes Voldemort and his cronies had committed against those who didn't share his views. In this, he wasn't any different from any other Muggle dictator.

"Here, I've finished peeling the figs." She pushed the bowl over to him with her elbow. Too bad the sweet taste of the Shrivelfigs would not be discernible anymore in the finished potion. Eaten fresh like this, she thought, as she contentedly licked the sticky juice from her fingers, they tasted delicious.

"Miss Granger!" her professor growled when he noticed what she was doing. "There is a perfectly working sink and a bar of soap in this lab. Why don't you make use of it?"

Seriously, what was the girl playing at? He'd had a hard enough time getting the images of her in her shrunken uniform out of his head, he didn't need to see her licking her fingers in bliss on top of it. Didn't she have any idea what kind of thoughts she called forward with it? If he didn't know better he'd think she was purposely teasing him.

Hermione, who really hadn't been aware of her action until this moment, blushed. She was neither innocent nor ignorant – just not at all used to being perceived as a sexual being by wizards. For Harry, she was a confidant and a friend, for Ron, she had always been a source comfort, or, more sadly, a convenience. The only one who had ever seen that her as female had been Victor Krum, and that had been a very long time ago.

And as to her professor... He was always so composed that he seemed above primal urges. She wondered now it was just his control and his iron will that enabled him him to be nothing but a teacher or a mentor whenever he was with her. She hadn't really dared to hope that the physical attraction she felt was mutual, or that he might find it just as difficult to suppress his yearnings as she did. That he even had yearnings, when it came to her...

But undeniably, there was something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. Could it really be... lust? Hermione had always thought that deep passion had to be hidden somewhere beneath that buttoned-up exterior and the image of the cold, unfeeling professor, and to think that she might be able to awaken it was quite empowering.

"Sorry," she murmured, though in truth, she wasn't. He was the one who had insisted on a strictly professional relationship, not her. Though coming over as seductive hadn't been intentional – frankly, she had no idea how to be intentionally seductive, but she filed away sucking sticky juice from her fingers for future reference – she couldn't help but congratulate herself. Why should she make it easy for him?

Still, she complied and washed the syrupy juice off at the sink. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" she inquired innocently when returning to the worktable.

"No," he grumbled, still scowling. "The remaining ingredients can be taken straight from the storage glasses. You can take over the Hangover Relief Potion, if you like. Keep stirring until it changes colour, then add two rotten eggs and stir again for five minutes. Don't forget to lower the heat before adding the eggs."

"I know! I had a fairly adequate teacher." Again, Hermione had to refrain from rolling her eyes. He probably wasn't above taking house points from her if she ruined this potion, no matter how much he might lust for her.

He shot her a glowering glance, but didn't respond, and Hermione saw that he was counting stirs. She waited until he had finished before she asked: "What about you? Did you join Voldemort's ranks because you felt that Muggle-borns were a threat to the wizarding community, too?

"Hardly, being a half-blood myself," he replied. "The wizarding world did not play a role in my life until my Hogwarts letter arrived. I never hated Muggles. I just hated my father."


	12. Two Princes

Summary of Chapter 11 – The Prying Potion and Pure-blood Pride

Severus gives Hermione a potion to drink that lowers her mental shields. He hopes that by slipping into her mind undetected and manipulating her thoughts, he can give her better understanding of her own though process. Hermione innocently calls it a date-rape-drug, which, however, doesn't keep her from drinking it almost the same instant. For reasons she doesn't fully understand, this rattles Severus and almost makes him cancel the lesson. They finally agree that Severus won't rummage around in her head, but will only try to find two very specific memories: What Hermione had for dinner and what her last conversation with Harry was about. The first is soon discovered, but in the heat of the following conversation about why pure-bloods feel threatened by Muggle-borns, he has all but forgotten to search for the second. The conversation ends with a surprising admission by the former Death Eater: "I never hated Muggles. I just hated my father."

* * *

 **Two Princes**

Hermione had always suspected that the Potions Professor hadn't had the most protected childhood – the memories he had given Harry had hinted at that. "Why?" she dared to ask, wondering if he would tell her. To even think it possible that he might disclose such a deeply private thing to her was surreal. But he did, and Hermione felt a wave of warmth and compassion rise within her. There was no better way for him to express that she had come to play a special role in his life.

"My childhood was every bit as miserable as Potters, Miss Granger. So if Dumbledore hoped that I would pity Harry for being made to sleep under the staircase, he failed to remember what my own home-life was like. My father was a violent man with many problems – alcohol abuse being one of them. At least Harry never experienced physical violence, like my mother and I did. And he could find comfort in the knowledge that the people who neglected him weren't his own parents."

"That's horrible..." Hermione said, trying not to let emotions colour the tone of her voice. She strongly suspected that he wouldn't take kindly to it, being unable to distinguish pity from compassion. "Your mother was a witch... why did she put up with domestic abuse?"

"You think it's lack of physical power that makes women become victims of domestic violence?" he asked, looking at her with a questioning brow. "It's lack of resolve, Miss Granger, and often, lack of options. My mother was disowned by her family. By marrying a Muggle, she had defiled her family's good name. She had no means to return to the wizarding world after that shame, and she had never really learned how to get by in the Muggle one. She wasn't a strong person. As far as I know, she committed only one act of rebellion in her entire life: When her father, Septimus Prince, tried to force her into marriage with a man twice her age when she was barely out of Hogwarts. She ran away and somehow ended up totally lost and without funds in Muggle Manchester. Three months later, she was married to Tobias Snape. Her family never spoke to her again."

With a slight hiss, her potion suddenly turned green. Hermione lowered the heat and, with an expression of extreme disgust, crushed two rotten eggs on the rim of the cauldron. The sulphurous smell was horrible and she quickly cast an air cleaning charm before taking her next breath. Picking up the stirring rod again, she thought of what he had said. His mother had run away so as not to be married to a man twice her age? Hermione wondered if that was also part of the reason he found their age difference such an important factor.

"Surely, she didn't reject her chosen husband solely for his age?" she inquired, hoping that he didn't consider that a valid reason.

"No, of course not. In the wizarding world, it's not at all uncommon for young women to marry much older husbands. At that time, women were not supposed to pursue a career and thus needed a husband who was established enough to provide for a family. But the wizard my grandfather had chosen for my mother was a disagreeable man, judging from the little she told me. Even so, her refusal to abide by her father's wishes cost her everything."

"But how did your mum, a talented witch from a respectable wizard family, end up with a Muggle who was an abusive drunk?"

"My father wasn't a miserable drunk when they met. He was a factory worker, and well enough off at least to own the small house we lived in, and in the sixties, the neighbourhood wasn't quite as poor and run-down as it is nowadays. Allegedly, he used to be charming and funny, and helped her when she had no one to turn to. She said he saved her, though from what exactly, she never told me."

"So she loved him?"

He shrugged. How was he to know? Such things were never voiced in his home. "At least, she was grateful and loyal," he surmised. "Although I wouldn't call it a happy marriage, my early childhood memories weren't all bad... My mother was loving, even if my father never really seemed to care much for me. Everything went down the drain when the factory closed and my father was laid off. He was on and off jobs from then on, hardly making enough money to keep us afloat, and it wreaked havoc with his self-esteem. The alcohol was an almost inevitable consequence, and when he was drunk, he often got violent. But he also was apologetic afterwards, and my mother always forgave him. I guess it was her way of making up for the fact that she had betrayed him."

"Betrayed him? You mean she was unfaithful?"

He shook his head. "She betrayed him about who she was. Apparently, he never knew that my mother was a witch until I was born and started to show signs of magic. My father couldn't deal with the revelation. Her skills frightened him, so she never used magic when he was around. Not even to fix our clothes when there wasn't enough money to buy new ones. Eventually, she stopped using it at all."

"If he had problems with his self-esteem, having a wife who could do magic probably only added to them..." Hermione mused, putting her stirring rod aside and turning off the heat beneath the cauldron. Her potion was done. Now, it only had to cool.

Her professor nodded thoughtfully. "It brought an imbalance to their relationship that neither could deal with. My mother came from a typical paternalistic pure-blood family. Women's roles were – still are – defined like they were in the Victorian era. They were raised to respect and obey their husbands and their fathers. Although my mother rebelled against her father that one time, this behaviour pattern was deeply ingrained. It's another explanation for why she didn't ever leave him. She tried to re-establish the classical roles by giving up what made her superior in terms of power: her magic.

My father was raised in a generation that expected the man to be the care-taker of the family, and failing to be able to do so properly was considered a shame. They struggled for a while to make it work, but ultimately, they both were unable to live with the restrictions they had put on themselves. My father succumbed to alcohol, my mother to depression. The Hogwarts letter was my salvation."

Hermione started to clean her work-table and pondered gratefully how different her own life had been, with parents who clearly loved and respected each other and both had satisfying jobs that allowed them to live in modest luxury. She had had everything a child could wish for – if only there hadn't always been the awareness that she was somehow different and didn't belong in that simple and orderly world.

Spiral fumes rising from her professor's cauldron indicated that the Stomach Soothing Potion was brought to completion, too. He also set it aside for cooling.

"You father had not minded you going to Hogwarts?" she inquired. She longed to hear more about his childhood and his Hogwarts years – it seemed like important background information to understand the man he had become. Fortunately, he seemed inclined to indulge her.

"My father probably would have minded a great deal if he had still been around. But at that point, he was rarely ever home. Eventually, he didn't come back at all. We never found out what happened to him – he might have moved away, or fallen drunken into the river... Frankly, I didn't care very much. It was a relief when he was gone. At least I was free to practise magic at home now whenever I wanted, and eventually learned how to fix my own clothes."

It seemed so hard to imagine now with his immaculate robes. Given that she had been observing him much closer recently, it hadn't escaped her notice that he had quite a stack of robes, and not just a single outfit, as rumours had it. The variations were extremely subtle though, like a higher or lower number of buttons on his frock coat, a slightly different collar, a different shade of black, or a slightly thicker or thinner texture to compensate for minor changes in temperature.

"What happened to your mum?" she asked, already suspecting that there hadn't been a happy end for her.

"She died when I was sixteen." He didn't really understand why he told her. He never spoke about his personal affairs with anyone. But he had seen so many of her secrets in her mind, and her willingness to expose herself to him somehow seemed to call for reciprocation. Besides, she might find it a source of comfort to know that no matter how bad a situation was, it could always be worse. Or maybe – and that again was a possibility he didn't dare to explore further – there was just something about her that brought out a deep-rooted and long denied need for closeness in him, a secret yearning for understanding, for compassion, for feeling as if somebody actually cared.

"How terrible!" She paused and gave him sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago, Miss Granger, and I hadn't really had a mother for many years prior to her death. Her depression had made her unable to really care for anyone but herself."

"She never used her magic again, even after your father was gone?"

"No. If a wizard or a witch stops using his magic for an extended period of time and suppresses it, the unused magical energy builds up and leaks into the physical body, causing multiple health problems. You might say that her own rejected magic made her sick and killed her in the end."

Hermione went to the sink to clean the messy working utensils. "Sirius once said that you knew more curses and hexes as a first-year than most seventh years. How did you learn them, if not from your mother?"

"Sirius lied. I didn't know that many spells when I arrived at Hogwarts – merely those few my mother had secretly taught me while she still could, in my younger years. But I was a fast learner, and the Marauders made sure that I read every book in the Hogwarts library that taught me how to defend myself quickly." He smirked and added: "I wasn't really that good before my second year."

Hermione had a hard time finding the humour in it, knowing why he had felt the need to become proficient in defending himself. If it hadn't been for Harry and Ron, she might easily have found herself in a similar position – bullied and shunned for her upbringing and her parents by Slytherins, and left without allies from her own house because of her incapability to fit in.

"I know why I was disliked by my house-mates. I guess I really was an insufferable know-it-all. But why haven't you found friends in your own house?"

"Because I was an awkward boy with no money or status, barely fitting clothes and little social graces who, to top it all of, was friends with a Muggle-born Gryffindor."

It was hard to imagine now. His demeanour, his manner of speech, his perfectly tailored, elegant clothes – nothing hinted at his family's difficult background. "Until we learned that you are the Half-blood Prince, we always assumed that you were a pure-blood. You seem so educated and cultured, a Slytherin to the core..."

"That I have mostly Narcissa to thank for. She was in her fourth year when she took me under her wing and made me her personal pet project. I suppose it was out of disdain for her cousin Sirius."

Yes, that made sense. Sirius, in many respects, was the exact opposite of Severus: He neither appreciated his family's wealth, their sophistication or their social standing. He was boisterous, disrespectful of rules and associated with people his family would never have found acceptable, such as a werewolf and a Pure-blood. Narcissa's resolution to form the boy her cousin was tormenting into the respectable Slytherin Sirius himself should have been, might have been born out of the desire to spite him.

"But has she never defended you or helped you against the Marauders?"

"Her help was subtle, and it took me a while to accept it. I was rather distrustful, as you can imagine. Lucius, who was in his sixth year when I started Hogwarts, found her efforts amusing, but after he had left school and joined the Death Eaters, he kept his eyes on me. I was showing potential, especially in potions, and he was recruiting for the Dark Lord. I was often invited to spend my holidays at Malfoy Manor, where Lucius introduced me introduced into his circle."

"What about the family of your mother? They were Pure-bloods... were they followers of Voldemort, too?"

"No. Although my uncle supported the ideology. But shortly after I had gained my mastery, the Dark Lord made an attempt to reconcile me with the Princes."

"You never had contact with them while your mother was alive?" Hermione wondered, drying the utensils she had cleaned and putting them back where they belonged.

"No. By opposing her father, she severed all ties. She was never forgiven for marrying a Muggle. My mother's brother, Octavius Prince, only became interested in me after I had made myself a name as talented potioneer and was quickly rising within the Dark Lord's circle. He was desperate for an heir, and the Dark Lord was interested in adding the Prince's name to the list of his followers. They both thought they could profit from a reconciliation."

He said it in a derisive tone which suggested this hadn't turned out favourably. "What happened?" Hermione asked.

"I refused. My uncle had never moved a finger to help me and my mother when we needed him. He was a heartless man, and I didn't want anything to do with him. He died shortly before the Dark Lord lost his power. His widow was in total opposition to everything her husband stood for politically and resented me for having taken the Mark. She stopped all further attempts to bring me back into the family. Until recently."

"Until recently?" Hermione prodded.

He didn't answer right away, and she wasn't sure if he was just busy bottling the concoctions, or if he was wondering by now why he had told her as much as he already had in the first place. But once again, he surprised her with his unusual openness.

"There have been renewed attempts to re-establish contact," he said, frowning as if the fact troubled him. "It's Irma's doing."

"Irma?" Hermione echoed once again, now really surprised. "Meaning Irma Pince – our librarian? What does she have to do with it?"

"Irma is my cousin," he simply stated.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "The two of you are related?"

"Her real name is Irmgard Prince. My mother's brother, Octavius, is her father."

Now that he told her, it was almost obvious. They shared some similarities, the most predominant ones being a hooked nose, dark hair and a constantly irritable look. Like the Potions Master, the librarian was cold and strict, a recluse and not at all popular among students. Still – how come no one knew about it? There were all kinds of rumours flying about, but never that.

He smirked. "You shouldn't be so surprised. After all, it's in her name. Irma Pince – if you rearrange the letters, it reads 'I'm a Prince'. It was Dumbledore's idea of a joke. I think he thought it funny, especially knowing that I had dubbed myself 'The Half-Blood Prince' in my sixth year."

"Okay, now you have me really confused... Why did Dumbledore change her name?" Hermione watched him ladle the potion into the flasks and wordlessly took the filled ones from him to put the stopper in. She briefly took notice of how seamlessly they worked together, then her mind was back on his latest revelation.

"So as not to slight her father any more than she had done by being born without magic. It allowed him to draw a veil over her existence. The position as Hogwarts librarian and the name change made for a low profile. Dumbledore, with his dotty humour, suggested Irma Pince."

"Madam Pince is a Squib? But what about the hexes that she placed on the books in the library? Ron once was attacked by one when he was eating chocolate frogs while reading in it."

"She didn't place the hexes," he smirked. "I did – at her request. And I absolutely agree with her that books ought to be treated with respect and care."

"How come she got the position as a librarian at Hogwarts as a Squib?" she asked, hoping that he would not send her away now that the work was done. He didn't, but led her back into his office.

"Albus, like you, was always a firm believer that Squibs deserved their place in society, too," he explained, not protesting when she sat down in own of the chairs near the fireplace. "He gave Argus the job as caretaker, and offered Irma the position as librarian when she showed up on his doorstep, asking for employment. Without magic, she had little value for her father. Squibs are mostly considered a burden, a disgrace. In former times, people even went as far as to swap them with magically gifted children born to Muggle parents after birth. They were called changelings in the Muggle world."

Hermione looked aghast. "That was really done?"

He took the chair next to hers and tapped the magical teapot on the small table between them with his wand, preparing them a cup of tea. It had somehow become a ritual by now. "Up to about 200 years ago, yes. Mediwitches often worked as midwives for Muggles, too. They knew the spells and could tell if a new-born child was gifted or not. And they had the means to arrange for an exchange. Since then, science, enlightenment and technical means have made it much more difficult."

"But that's horrible!"

"What seems cruel to you seemed like the sensible thing to do, back then. It lowered the risks of Muggle-born wizards and witches being burned at the stake, and it gave Squibs a chance of making a successful life for themselves – something they would have been denied in the wizarding world."

Despite the logic of his statement, Hermione found it difficult to agree. What mother would willingly give up her child – no matter if gifted or not? It was inhuman.

"Many pureblood supremacists advocated the idea of swapping children again. In their eyes, it solved two problems at once – minimising the risk of exposure and bringing fresh blood into the wizarding world that comes without Muggle views and culture. I'm sure my uncle was supportive of these plans."

"How would you feel if you ever had a child that turned out to be a Squib?" Hermione asked, taking the cup he offered her. He had added just the right amount of milk and sugar.

"I?" He gave her a surprised look over the teacup as if she had asked him how he would feel if he was elected most popular teacher of the year.

"Yes. Or don't you ever want children?" That would be a downer. She hadn't really thought about it, but she could well see herself as a mother at some point in her future.

"Isn't it a bit early for us to be discussing children?" he ironically asked back.

Hermione almost spit out her tea. She knew he meant to be sarcastic, but she very much appreciated the fact that he was referring to the two of them as 'us'. Did it mean he really saw the potential for a relationship? Deciding to simply ignore the sarcasm and off-handedly answered: "Oh, well, you know how I like making long-term plans..."

He seemed slightly unnerved. Obviously, he was unsure whether she was serious or not. He probably regretted having offered her the tea by now.

"I don't know," he finally answered reluctantly. "I have never given it much thought. There was no reason to assume that it would ever become an issue, especially not in the last years." He had never even imagined himself in a marriage or even in a steady relationship. Even as a boy and a teenager, he had been a solitary person and had come to accept that as a status quo that would most likely never change. He hadn't ever expected to survive the war, much less to have the freedom of choice and options to choose from. And he certainly hadn't been able to imagine that he could one day become the object of a young witch's affection.

"And now? I mean – you're only thirty-eight. That's still young enough to consider having a family, especially for a wizard."

"Can you picture me as a father?" Again, the question carried an ironical undertone, but he still seemed anxious for her answer.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I can."

Sceptically, he raised his eyes at her and gave her a pointed look as if to say 'really, Miss Granger?'

"You needn't look so surprised," Hermione told him firmly. "Like I said – you do have a lot of qualities that I think make a good parent: you are very protective and caring, and you have a strong sense of duty. You also know how to set boundaries and establish reliable rules. While you're undisputably lacking patience when dealing with 'dunderheads', I know that you can be very patient if you choose to be. Given that I strongly doubt that you'll ever father dunderheads, that shouldn't be a problem. You only have to work on yourself in the encouragement and motivation department. But then, you'll have a wife who will outbalance your shortcomings, just as you will outbalance hers. So with your own children... yes, I do believe that you'd make a good father."

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry, I had to cut the chapter again – it was getting out of hand, lengthwise, and I still have a couple of annotations for you:_

 _About Eileen Snape: We know little about her from canon. We only know that at roughly age 16, in her sixth year, she possessed a potions book that must have been published between 1943 and 1949. I believe it might have been a hand-down from her older brother (not canon), who purchased it new in 1949._

 _Coming from a traditional society (possibly even from a pure-blood family) that was more backwards than Muggle society, it is unlikely that Eileen pursued a career. So I figured that she was to be married off soon after her graduation. If she ran away from a forced marriage before 1960 (Snape's birth) at a relatively young age, that puts her graduation to approximately 1958, and her birthday to ~ 1940._

 _This leaves open the question if Tobias Snape was really Severus' father. I never understood how a witch could end up with a man like him. So whatever happened to Eileen in the Muggle world (was she raped or seduced by someone?), it made her marry a factory worker from Manchester, who turned out not to be a nice man (did he 'save' her by marrying her?)_

 _Of course, it's entirely possible that the Princes were not a rich or respectable wizard family, but I doubt that. Ms. Rowlings was always very meticulous about the names she gave to her characters. And Prince does not sound like a disrespectful name at all._

 _There's nothing about Irma Pince in canon proving that she's related to Snape, but there are a couple of hints. The most obvious one is her name – Irma Pince is an anagram of "I'm a Prince' – but her manner and appearance also hint at a family resemblance. I think a cousin is more likely than her being Severus' mother in disguise, as portrayed in some fanfiction works. If that were the case, I'm sure Ms. Rowlings would have left us a few more cues, such as her age or glimpses into her relationship with Severus. In the movies, there was actually a slight resemblance between her and the Potions Master, and she was depicted as about the same age as him._

 _For the longest time, I really thought it likely that Irma is a Squib. After all, she "cleaned the dust on the shelves of the library manually, with a feather duster she brandished at students whenever they looked suspicious". But then I found that in 'Order of the Phoenix', she raised her wand and sent items after Harry when he was eating chocolate in the library. So no, she can't be a Squib. But it fit my story nicely, and I wanted to include a discussion about Squibs and their difficulties in the wizarding world. So I decided to leave it as it is. Maybe she bought a charmed wand that does nothing more than send items flying. Sounds like something Fred and George might sell in their joke shop. :)_


	13. Family Matters

**Summary of Chapter 12 – Two Princes**

Severus tells Hermione about his home life and the failed marriage of his parents. To her surprise, he also reveals that he is related to the Hogwarts librarian, who is in truth his cousin, Irma Prince. Hermione is surprised to learn that Madam Pince is a Squib, who, in the wizarding world, are faced with at least as many problems as wizard or witches born to Muggles.

Their discussion ends with Hermione's surprising answer to his rather rhetorical question regarding to his parental qualifications: _"Yes, I do believe that you'd make a good father."_

* * *

 **Family Matters**

Severus didn't know what to say. Hermione's words had painted pictures in his head – he saw himself sitting in a wing chair with his potion journal, surrounded by family – at his feet a toddler crawling on the carpet, in a corner of the room, a little girl playing 'brewing' with toy cauldrons, and running all over the place, a teenager in a Slytherin-green Quidditch outfit excitedly recounting his spectacular moves in the game just won against Gryffindor. On the arm of his chair his smiling wife who had brown eyes and wild hair. It seemed surreal, like a fairy-tale. And yet he couldn't deny feeling a pang of yearning for something that he himself had never had... people whom he loved and who loved him back, the safety and comfort of a family he could care for and always count on.

But most likely, it wouldn't be like this. His kids would be rebellious Gryffindors with all his luck and despise him, his wife would long have stopped loving him because of all his shortcomings and he would be an unwanted presence even in his own home. He'd have become even more unhappy and withdrawn because of that – or worse, he'd completely lose it and turn into a copy of his own father. This was the worst case scenario.

But he'd gladly have Squib children if it meant that he would also get the wife and the emotionally intact family from his vision – although he could well imagine that this scenario held a lot of potential problems in store. "I imagine being the father of a Squib is just as difficult as being the father of a witch or a wizard when you're a Muggle," he finally answered, firmly pushing the pictures her question had painted from his mind. "Being unable to support your child and offer him help and opportunities to make his life must make you feel like a compete failure." He briefly wondered if feeling helpless and incompetent had been one of the reasons for his father's aversion towards magic.

"No, how can you say that!" Hermione exclaimed agitatedly. "Parenting under such conditions is probably more difficult than in families where everyone is either Muggle or wizard. But my parents always supported me and loved me, and I loved them. I guess there are ways to make sure that your child always has someone who can help him even if you can't – for instance by giving him Muggle-born godparents if he comes from a wizarding family and vice versa. This is one of the things I would love to change – there has to be a way to help Muggle-borns early on, even before they come to Hogwarts. It'd be easy to organize some kind of mentor program... one that could help Squibs just the same way. Maybe there are lists of Squibs as there are lists of Muggle-borns..."

"And there she goes again... Hermione Granger, revolutionising the world." Internally shaking his head, but undeniably also with fascination he looked at the girl, in whose eyes he could see a spark of the fire burning again that for months had seemed to be dead out. How could she be so optimistic, so utterly convinced that everything could change for the better if one only tried hard enough? Either he was getting old or he was simply an incorrigible pessimist.

"You think it's a bad idea?" she asked, sounding slightly affronted. Nevertheless, there was a note of challenge in her tone.

"I didn't say that," he clarified. "It's just – contrarian. I'm sure there are some wizard families who'd be open-minded. Most parents love their children despite them being Squibs, and would do everything to make them happy. But there are also those who will oppose such ideas with all their might, not wanting it to become widely known that they have fathered a child without magic. A lot of wizards believe that Squibs carry a defective gene, and that marrying a Squib will increase the likelihood of children without magical power. So a Squib's prospect for a good marriage is pretty much nil – wizards, especially pure-bloods, prefer marrying into power. They believe it augments the chances of equally powerful offspring."

"But that's ridiculous," Hermione interrupted. "Your father was a Muggle, and you're one of the most powerful wizards alive. And so is Harry."

"Don't forget that you are a most powerful witch yourself, Miss Granger. Yes, I agree. Trying to keep the magic family lines pure is in fact the cause of many problems, not the solution to them. Still, Octavius Prince didn't see it that way. So instead of introducing Irma to society and trying to find a husband for her as would have happened with a magically gifted daughter, she was discretely hidden away. Until she was old enough to leave and secure herself a position as Librarian at Hogwarts."

"When you say hidden away, you don't mean locked into the basement or something like that, do you?" Hermione asked, fearing the worst.

"No. He just never spoke about her or introduced her to their friends and acquaintances. And politeness dictates that one doesn't inquire about kids that are never mentioned by their parents. In the privacy of their home, Irma had everything she could want for. She said she spent most of her childhood surrounded by books."

"Small wonder then that she treats her books as if they were living beings," Hermione mused, feeling a bit more compassionate about the misanthropic librarian. "Were you both aware of the fact that you were related all this time?"

"No. She was already the librarian when I started teaching, but she never revealed her true identity to me. I only learned very recently that she was aware of my family history, even though she hardly remembered my mother. But she also knew I had joined the Death Eaters when I was young and was not entirely convinced that I was reformed when Dumbledore made me the Potions Professor."

"She mistrusted you all these years?" Hermione wondered if anyone but Dumbledore had ever approached him with trust and an open mind.

"She wasn't the only one who was fooled by the role I had to play. But she always treated me respectfully, given that she was loyal to Dumbledore and trusted his judgement. It was only when Harry taunted the Dark Lord with my treachery that she learned the truth about my allegiance. She told me everything when I returned to teach after the war."

"That must have been a startling discovery..."

"Indeed," he murmured, taking another sip of his tea. "But nothing compared to the revelation she made only a few days ago..."

Hermione didn't dare to inquire, but patiently waited for him to continue. She had become utterly fascinated by his story, which gave her insights into wizarding culture that were entirely new to her. Her teacher, who seemed to be in a rare, mellow mood, indulged her, just as she had hoped he would. Considering that she had been the one to take the prying potion, it was rather ironic.

"Irma's mother, Honoria Prince, who had refused all contact with me after her husband's death, confessed to Irma after the war that my uncle had changed his will a long time before. Honoria was only to receive a widow's allowance, and the family fortune was to go to the last remaining heir of the Prince line."

"To their daughter – Irma?"

"Hardly. Aside from being a Squib and an unmarried woman, she's not known to the wizarding world as daughter of Octavius Prince and isn't even mentioned in her father's will. No, the name and the family estate are to go to the last remaining male heir."

"You?" Hermione superfluously asked. "He reinstated you in his testament?"

"Only on the condition that I adopt the name Prince, as he wouldn't tolerate having his worldly possessions fall into the hand of a man who carries the name of a Muggle."

"Oh..." This was a stunning revelation indeed. "Why did your aunt only tell you now?"

"Because for the longest time, she had held a grudge against me for joining the Dark Lord. Everything she heard about me from Hogwarts – my apparent dislike of Muggleborns, my hatred of Harry Potter, my murdering the Headmaster whom she respected very much for having helped her daughter – it all led her to believe that I was a man just as bad as her deceased husband. With everything that was brought to light after the war, she didn't know what to believe. She carried through her own investigations, getting testimony from people who knew me. It seems she was even more thorough than the Wizengamot."

Hermione frowned. "She can't have been that thorough – she never spoke to Harry."

"Oh, but she did! She set a private detective on the case. He posed as a reporter and interviewed a lot of people. You apparently spoke to him as well, and from what I've been told, you were one of my most passionate defenders. You also spoke to Irma about me, didn't you?"

"Well, yes – once. When I came back to Hogwarts in September. I was surprised that she addressed me at all, because she had never spoken to me before."

"She's not a very talkative or social person."

"No," Hermione murmured. "It probably doesn't run in the family." She believed to see a hint of amusement lurking in his eyes.

"I presume she inquired about me?" Severus asked.

"Yes. She asked me which parts of what the press said about you were really true. I thought she needed to reconcile what the Wizengamot had revealed about you with what she had witnessed when you were headmaster."

"That might have been part of the reason. As one of the Golden Trio – and a Muggle-born no less – your statement provided credible evidence. And after a thorough background check, I was apparently found 'most likely not guilty' by my formidable aunt."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Hermione carefully questioned, sensing resentment behind his slightly sarcastic tone. "You wanted forgiveness and you got it – not only from the Wizengamot, from Dumbledore and from Harry, but also from your closest relative. Maybe it's time you started believing that you're free to move on."

He didn't say anything, but it was clear to her that he felt differently about the situation. She couldn't make sense of the obvious reluctance and the tension he displayed when talking about his aunt. Did he take offense at the fact that she had only acknowledged the truth having done a thorough investigation? It didn't seem likely, as he usually accepted without protest if people thought the worst of him.

"She demands to see me," he finally said, as if it explained his bitterness.

"Naturally," Hermione responded. "She wants to get to know you."

"Her opinion of me is of no importance," he spat in the biting tone normally reserved for disrespectful students. It made her look up in surprise. "It's not for her to decide whether I'm worthy of the family fortune or not. If I choose to call myself Prince henceforward, I can claim everything right away. And if I refuse the 'honour', everything will fall to the ministry after her death."

"You think she wants to see you so she can judge you?" Hermione asked, suddenly understanding his antagonism.

"Of course," he replied, as if Hermione was the one who wasn't getting it. "Why else?"

Hermione raised her brow, looking at him with bemusement. "Has it not occurred to you that your aunt might be inviting you so you can judge her?"

"What?"

Obviously, it had not. "Honestly – the woman did you a great injustice for a very long time," Hermione tried to explain what his aunt's view of things might be. "Granted, she wasn't the only one, but it seems to weigh on her conscience. She kept the will a secret from you and took possession of things that weren't hers to claim. She could have kept the secret until her death. By coming forth now and telling you the truth, she's putting everything at risk – you probably could press charges, if you wanted to. I'm sure she wouldn't have disclosed anything if she thought you a mean, vindictive man who'd throw her out of her home. But she might be afraid that you are holding a grudge against her and refuse what's rightfully yours, which would also leave her daughter with nothing. Maybe she would like a chance to explain and prove herself to you."

Once again bereft of words, Severus could only stare at the young woman sitting across from him. With a few pointed observations she called his misgivings and concerns into question. Unknowingly or, which was even more reason for concern, fully aware of it, she had uncovered his deepest insecurities: The fear of being judged and found not worthy. True, it had been a very real, even life threatening concern until recently, but he hadn't realized that it had made him rather paranoid of every situation in which others were likely to judge him. Which was basically every time he interacted with anybody. He was intelligent enough to realise that this wasn't a very healthy attitude.

"So – how do you feel about the idea of changing your name to your mother's maiden name?" Hermione inquired tentatively.

"I'm not sure," he sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. The simple gesture struck a chord with her – it seemed so oddly human, and altogether un-Snape-like. For the third time tonight, she realised how unguarded he had become with her.

"There was a time I would have wanted nothing more. I hated my father, and his name has never been something I carried with pride. But when I was offered the chance to become a member of the Prince family for the first time – for all the wrong reasons and by a man who was only marginally better than my own father – it felt like an insult. As if he thought he could buy himself a son. Besides, I didn't want the Dark Lord to profit from it. And now... I don't need a manor, a fancy name or the family riches. I'm getting by just fine with what I earn as a professor and from the profits of my patented potions."

"Just how much of a fortune are we talking about?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. Certainly nothing in the league of the Malfoys. Prince House is a modest country estate. I have no idea how my uncle invested his money. For all I know, I could be inheriting a lot of debts."

"But if not, you could still use it for something good," Hermione added for consideration. "If you ever leave Hogwarts, you're going to need a lab. That's a pretty large investment. And there is Irma to consider."

"She's getting by with her salary just fine. She told me so, and also said that she didn't want to push me into anything. On the other hand – it used to be her home, and I surely don't want it to fall to the ministry. So all in all, I'm feeling rather torn."

"You don't have to decide now," Hermione pointed out sensibly. "I think you should go and get to know your aunt. Maybe that will help you with your decision. You know, I do believe in second chances..."

"Yes, I quite remember that, Miss Granger!"

"Professor Prince... Severus Prince, Master of Potions," she tried the name on her tongue. "I like it."

He snorted. "It sounds preposterous."

"No, it doesn't," she disagreed. "It sounds noble."

Did this change Harry's plans for Christmas? Hermione wondered. Quite likely their Professor would want to spend the holidays with his family, now...

"What do I have to do with Mr. Potter's plans for Christmas?" Severus asked, who had just remembered that he was still looking for information and had chosen this moment to take another glimpse into Hermione's mind. The thought he had found was puzzling.

"You heard that?" Hermione asked, sounding dismayed.

"Loud and clear. I also sensed disappointment when you were just wondering whether I'd be spending Christmas with my 'family', as you call them. You were talking about me, you and Harry, weren't you?"

She could feel a mild tingling in her mind when he slipped back in and called forward the memory of her conversation with Harry. This time, she made no effort to keep him away from it, but watched the memory replay before her eyes like a movie.

 _'Are we still agreed that we'll spent Christmas together at Grimmauld Place rather than going to the Weasleys?' Harry asked. They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room on the sofa; Hermione having a book in her hand and her legs stretched out with her feet on Harry's lap. She looked quite comfortable, whereas he stared into the fire with a slightly tense expression._

 _'Yes, of course,' Hermione replied, only briefly looking up from her book. 'I can't imagine being at the Burrow with Lavender there, Ginny still heartbroken and Molly upset with both of us for turning her children down. So yes, Grimmauld Place it is.'_

 _'I wondered... with you spending so much time assisting Snape and all...Would you mind... do you think he would mind...'_

 _'What, Harry?' Hermione clapped her book shut and gave him her full attention._

 _'Well, I was thinking of inviting him for Christmas, too. He's the only other one who's left of my family – in a way – and Christmas is supposed to be spent with family. And I also wanted to ask Draco if he would like to join us. We're practically all orphans and don't have anyone else to go to, after all...'_

 _'Oh Harry...'_

 _'If you don't want me to invite them, that's okay...' Harry quickly assured. 'I won't... it was just an idea... Probably stupid.'_

 _'Actually,' Hermione said slowly, 'I think it's a great idea.'_

 _'You do?' Harry sounded surprised._

 _'Yes. And I think you should also invite Remus and Teddy. You're Teddy's godfather, so he's family, too.'_

 _Harry seemed delighted at the thought, but then his gaze turned doubtful. 'But – do you think Snape... he'd actually agree?'_

 _'I honestly don't know," Hermione replied. "I have no idea what he usually does for Christmas. He was probably going to spent it with Draco, being his godfather.'_

 _'He's my godfather, too.'_

 _'So celebrating together would seem like a good idea.'_

 _'I'm scared of asking him,' Harry admitted._

 _'Why? Because he might say 'no'?'_

 _'No, because he might say something like: Are you out of your mind, Potter? Why would I want to spent Christmas with a dunderhead like you?'_

 _'I don't think he will say that,' Hermione said seriously. 'He's not like that anymore.'_

 _'Well, he was pretty decent when he talked to me. I really think he's interested in starting over. It's still so – surreal, being on friendly terms with Snape.'_

 _She snorted. 'You don't say.'_

 _'So I take it he's being fairly nice to you?'_

 _'Actually, he is.'_

 _'What's going on between the two of you anyway? And don't say 'nothing', I'm not stupid, Hermione. I know I've not been as attentive towards you as I should have been with all that's been going on, and I'm sorry for that. But I've seen that something has changed with you.'_

 _'He's been helping me, Harry. He's teaching me Occlumency.'_

 _'What? How did that come about?'_

 _She shrugged. 'I asked him. He thinks it might help with my nightmares.'_

 _Harry looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Why someone would volunteer for Occlumency lessons with Snape was obviously beyond him._

 _'And – how's it going?'_

 _'It's too early to tell,' Hermione answered, reporting on her progress rather than her emotional state, which Harry was clearly more concerned about. 'We've only had two lessons. But it is definitely immensely fascinating.'_

 _'Fascinating? Okay, that's not a word I would have chosen... I guess he must be extra nice to you if you haven't run away screaming after two lessons. So – you wouldn't mind if I asked him?'_

 _'No, not at all. And I don't mind you asking Draco either. We've been getting on fine, too. I take it that you two have made some progress?'_

 _Harry blushed. 'Yes. Though I think he's still not sure what he wants. I mean, admitting to myself that I was gay was hard enough, and I didn't have parents loaded with prejudice to be concerned about. Actually, Snape said that they wouldn't have minded. There was a gay guy in their year, and they were always very friendly with him. Remus said the same thing. Draco's parents most likely wouldn't be supportive. Especially not if his love interest turned out to be Harry Potter.'_

 _'Don't worry. I think this is not something you can lie to yourself about forever. And Draco is still in the process of emancipating himself from his parents and all prejudice he was raised with. Give him time.'_

 _'I'm not in a hurry. For the moment, I just like his company. Everything else is still as scary for me as I suppose it is for him. So whatever it will be, we're taking it slowly.'_

"Harry wants to invite me to Grimmauld Place for Christmas?" Totally baffled, Severus retreated from her mind.

Hermione shrugged. "I told you Harry would regard you as family once he knew. He's been longing to have people he can call his own. If he could, he'd adopt me as a sister right away." She searched his face. It was carefully blank, which meant that he was struggling to hide his emotions. "So – how do you feel about that?"

"I don't know," he answered after a prolonged pause. "It's going to be awkward."

"Why should it be?"

As if it wasn't obvious. He didn't know how to act around Harry. He didn't even know how to act around her. "Well, for once, there's the fact that I'm still your teacher," he pointed out what was undeniably a major part of the problem.

"So is Remus. And Draco is your student, too – and your godson. It's not that much different."

"You make it sound as if it was so easy."

"And you're thinking too much."

"Look who's saying that..." he said with a mild scoff.

She grinned. "Touché. But it's still true. There's nothing to worry about. Not even about getting everybody presents. Harry suggested a White Elephant Gift Exchange. Just bring something of yours that you don't need or have always wanted to get rid of. We'll swap. I'm that's going to be a lot of fun."

As to be expected, the prospect of 'fun' was not the right incentive to bring him round.

Severus had added reason for concern. Something the boy had hinted at... "Do you think your friend suspects something about... well – about us?"

"Would it be so terrible if he did? Or if I told him?"

"You tell me. Maybe you should. We'll see if his invitation for Christmas still stands after that."

"I'm sure it will." Harry had grown immensely as a person last year. And after all they had been through together, there was not much that could come between them anymore. "After all, who is he to judge anyone's heart's desire? Him hooking up with Draco isn't any less strange."

Hermione was glad that things seemed to be moving in the right direction. Her oldest and dearest friend deserved happiness in his live, and if felt like a sort of redemption that - of all people - two of former enemies were beginning to play an important role in it. What had seemed unimaginable before had moved into the realm of possibilities.

Severus was glad to have gotten a fair warning. This development was unexpected. The sad truth was, he hadn't spent Christmas with anybody in years. There used to be a time – before the Dark Lord's return – that he was invited to Malfoy Manor for Christmas. Before that, and after that, he spent the holidays at Hogwarts. Mostly alone in his quarters. He had told himself that he didn't mind – that he enjoyed the quiet time. Spending Christmas with Harry Potter – of all people – was going to break with all of his habits. He felt a moment of panic. Yes, he had wanted to change his life for the better. But this seemed like a pretty big leap. It seemed like he was expected to take sudden leaps in all kind of directions. It was unsettling.

"I really would love to see you for Christmas," Hermione said, hoping to sway his opinion. "Three weeks of holidays are long. I'll be missing our lessons and our brewing." She was going to miss him, period. And to think she might actually get to spend time with him in a more private setting... well, it gave her inspiration. Like reminding Harry of the mistletoe tradition.

"I'll think about it," Severus finally said, seeing the hopeful longing in her eyes. Three weeks was indeed a long time to spend alone, now that he had gotten used to seeing her every other day. "And I also promise not to take Harry's head off if he should find the courage to address the matter."

"Well, thank you – I'd appreciate that. And maybe you could subtly find out how Draco would feel about an invitation to Grimmauld Place?"

That wasn't a bad suggestion, either. It gave him a reason to talk to Draco and start mending their slightly tense relationship as well. And to break to him that he had another godson Draco hadn't known about... Yes, that was going to be interesting, too.

"I could do that. I'll keep you informed."

* * *

 _A/N: To my astonishment and contrary to the information I gave my dear beta, Dreamthrower, there is nothing in the books or the movies about Snape actually being Draco's godfather. It must be one of those perceived 'facts' that were so often used in fanfiction that they have become 'fanon'._

 _Edit March 2018: I've been revising some of the chapters as I've been reformatting them for another site, and on doing so, I always end up re-writing and adding to the existing chapters. This means that those changes and additions have not been proof-read by Dreamthrower, so all mistakes are entirely mine. If you feel like it, you're welcome to point them out to me and I will correct them, but please don't hold them against her. :)_


	14. What Dreams May Come

Summary of Chapter 13 – Family Matters

Severus tells Hermione about some unexpected news he has recently received from his cousin Irma: His aunt, who mistrusted him for many years, has confessed to her daughter that her deceased husband named him as his heir – under the condition that he adopts the name 'Prince'. Severus is undecided what to do, not sure about his feelings towards his aunt. Hermione encourages him to at least consider meeting with her.

Looking into Hermione's mind for the information he's still supposed to find, Severus finds out that he's about to receive another unexpected offer from a 'relative': From Harry, who wants Severus to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place with him, Draco and Hermione.

 _A/N: This chapter has been heavily edited since it was posted, and has not been beta-ed. If you're in a mood to point out mistakes, I'll gladly correct them. But please don't blame my poor beta!_

* * *

 **What Dreams May Come**

A piercing scream tore from her throat, but it couldn't wake Hermione from this nightmare. Anguish. Endless torment. Torture. Again and again, Hermione's entire world was drowned in an ocean of pain. It was in every single fibre of her body, it burned into her, tore at her, ate her, liquified her. There were no words to describe the agony.

Then the Cruciatus Curse was lifted for good and the wand that had made her feel as if her organs were being crushed, her nails torn out and her bones broken was replaced by a knife that cut into the delicate skin on the underside of her arm instead. It was almost a relief – at first. The burning pain was now concentrated on one area of her body instead of everywhere at once, but it was adding insult to injury. And the psychological effect of what was being done to her was almost worse than the pain. She was being branded.

Bellatrix enunciated every letter she painstakingly – or rather pains-givingly – carved into her flesh.

M – u – d – B – l – o – o – d.

A lower life form, not even human in her tormentors' eyes. Hermione didn't feel human right now. She had wet herself, having lost control of her bladder under the witch's powerful Cruciatus. She probably would have soiled herself, too, if she had had anything in her bowels. The vomit, Bellatrix had vanished with a spell and a look of disgust on her face.

Hermione could feel the hatred emanating from her like she could feel the blood that was oozing from her wounds, the tears that were leaking from her eyes and the broken, animalistic cries that were torn from her throat. And worse yet, she could feel the pleasure Bellatrix felt on seeing her tremble and whimper, and knew she was revelling in Hermione's pain and fear.

But the mad, shrieking witch wasn't the only one to derive a sadistic feeling of lust from her suffering. Greyback was holding her down, molding his body along hers in a mocking parody of a lover's embrace. And while his cruel hands kept her pinned to the floor, he kept whispering into her ear... crude and ugly words that were defiling and humiliating her; vivid descriptions of things yet to come that held her paralysed with fear, menacing promises of what he would do to her that would make Bellatrix's torture seem like a caress in comparison...

"Don't listen to him," she suddenly heard a calm, commanding voice say. "He won't hurt you."

Hermione turned her head – away from the chandelier above head that she'd been staring at to avoid looking at the werewolf's leering face, to her side. There, behind Bellatrix, stood the Potions Master, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking as intimidating as ever. Yet his eyes that were holding her gaze now were full of sympathy, warmth and compassion.

"Help me!" she begged. "Please!" She couldn't do anything more now than whisper. Even that hurt.

He gave an incline of his head. "I will," he promised. "I won't let him hurt you."

"I'm so scared!"

"I know. But you will get though this, Hermione. You have to stay strong just a little bit longer."

"I can't!" she whimpered. "I'll have to tell her... Maybe it will make her stop. Make it stop, please. It's too much to bear..."

His tone, though full of regret, became more insistent. "You can escape them, right now. Look inside your mind. Put up your shields and retreat behind them. They can't find you there."

"I don't know how!"

"Yes, you do. I know that you can."

"It hurts so much!"

"Go behind your walls, Hermione, and find your happy place. The grove, the river... remember?"

"It's not my place! I don't know how to get there! You led me there last time. I can't find it without you!"

"Then I shall lead the way." He stretched his hand out for her, but started to fade at the same time.

"Don't leave me, please!" she cried in anguish.

"I'm here," she could still hear his soothing voice in her ear, though she couldn't see him anymore. "I'm always here. Just look inside you... Come with me, Hermione!"

She obeyed. As if she had disapparated, the drawing room, the crystal chandelier, Bellatrix, the werewolf... they all faded away, and she found herself back on the arid, desolated plane of a landscape that seemed inhospitable, even hostile. But she knew it was just the surface appearance. She only had to find her way to the grove, she had been there before. All she need was the courage to actually start walking. Hermione took a tentative step, then another one. There – it wasn't that difficult. Just putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

The wind picked up, a gentle breeze. Once she felt it in her back, warm and soothing, gently giving her directions, it didn't take long at all to get there: That peaceful, beautiful place near the river, where golden sunlight fell through the leaves of the trees and sparkled on the surface of the water like diamonds. The wind almost seemed to carry her right to it.

And there he was, waiting for her.

"You're here..." she said, feeling a wave of happiness surge through her that washed away all her fears, her doubts and her pain.

"Where else would I be?" he asked. "You're not alone in this, Hermione. I have always watched out for you. I promised I would help you." He reached out with his hand and wiped away the tears that were still running down her cheeks. "There. It's okay now... you'll be fine."

She smiled at him through misty eyes. Yes, everything was going to be okay. They were together. "Can I hug you now?" she asked.

The corners of his mouth never moved; he looked as stern as ever. But his eyes smiled back. "Yes," he simply said, and opened his arms, welcoming her. She wrapped her own around him and put her cheek on his chest, inhaling his comforting scent and listening to the steady beat of his heart. She was home.

*'*'*'*'*

Hermione had woken crying, but for once, her tears had not been of terror and despair, but of release. She felt shaken and highly emotional, but also strangely liberated - as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Strangely, once she had fully realised that she was safe in her bed in Hogwarts and that Luna was snoring softly right next to her, she hadn't been able to remember her dream at all. Yet a couple of times throughout the following day, something had briefly flashed up, a fleeting picture, a feeling, and she had thought it would come back to her now.

But like often with dreams, it had remained intangible, lingering just beneath the surface of her consciousness and evading capture. Yet a strange, euphoric feeling had carried her through the day, like the remains of a particularly stimulating drug that had not yet faded from her system. Something good had happened. Though she had no idea what and why, Hermione felt something like hope unfurl its fragile wings.

*'*'*'*'*'*

It all finally came back to her when she was sitting in her Potions Professor's office, correcting first years' essays. Hermione didn't know exactly what triggered it – maybe it was the calm contentment she felt in his presence; the companionable quietude that was much more pleasant than the ruckus in the Gryffindor common room or the oppressive silence in her own. Or maybe it was just his unique scent that had become quite familiar after all those nights she'd slept with his robe beneath her pillow, which now caught in her nostrils whenever he moved behind her to pick up another book form the shelf.

All of a sudden, the memory was back, and Hermione gasped in surprise when she was flooded with pictures and emotions of her dream. Severus looked up sharply. "Everything alright? You look like you've just seen a Thestral for the first time."

"Yes," she murmured, still trying to grasp all of those fragments that came flying back to her and to put them in the right order, so that she could see the entire picture. "That describes it fairly well..."

He shut his book and looked at her, unmistakable concern etched on his face. "What's the matter?"

"I had another nightmare last night, about Malfoy Manor..." she said with a catch in her voice, depicting what she saw as the memory unfolded before her eyes again. "It's always the same. I'm lying on the floor at Bellatrix feet... First, she's using the Cruciatus on me, then the knife... And while she's torturing me, Greyback is holding me down... whispering into my ear the entire time... vile, disgusting things... what he'll do to my body once she has finished playing with me... how I will scream until my vocal chords are raw and bleeding and how much pleasure he'll derive from that... It's just – horrible. I'm lying there in a pool of my own blood, staring at the chandelier and I have no control of my limbs anymore. They are twitching and trembling as if I was a broken wind-up doll. I sure that I'm going to die. I _hope_ that I'm going to die, soon, before he can have his way with me. I've lost all hope..."

Severus' face lost all colour, his fingers closed around the edges of the book so hard that his knuckles turned white. "Oh Merlin, Hermione...!" he exclaimed with a choked voice, looking tortured himself. " I'm so sorry! I can't even begin to tell you how much I wish I could have spared you this..."

"No, wait," she rushed to explain, not even taking conscious notice of his slip of tongue. She hadn't meant to impart the worst thing that had ever happened to her on him like this. It wasn't exactly how it had happened in reality. It had been Scabior whose lecherous gaze she had felt on her body and who had verbally defiled her. Greyback hadn't held her down while Bellatrix carved her arm, either. She had used sticking charm. But his hands had been all over her before Bellatrix had even gotten started, and Hermione had known what atrocities the werewolf was capable of.

Hermione had never spoken about it to anyone before, she hadn't been able to. The nightmare had merged her most traumatic moments and made them into a kaleidoscope of all her fear. But now, probably because the dream hadn't ended like the countless times before, everything had just come tumbling out. "I didn't mean to burden you with this. I just wanted to tell you that it was different this time. You were there... You saved me!"

It didn't seem to make a difference. She could still see the horror on his face, and strangely, something that looked like self-recrimination. Why would he feel responsible for something that had clearly been beyond his control?

"I wish I could have acted sooner," he said almost inaudibly. "But the message reached me too late... I hadn't even known you were captured until Aberforth's Patronus arrived. I sent Dobby immediately, but obviously still too late to prevent you from getting hurt..."

Confused, Hermione looked at him. "It was a dream," she tried to clarify, "in reality, it wasn't quite like that. You were... wait – what?" Becoming fully aware of he had said, Hermione's voice broke off and she searched his face for an explanation. He wasn't talking about the dream. Dobby hadn't even been in it, neither had Aberforth. He was talking about what had really happened on the day they had been caught by the Snatchers.

Severus remembered it like it had happened yesterday. It had been, even in retrospective, one of the worst days in his life, progressing from unpleasant to disastrous within hours. In the morning, he had been forced to deal with another graffiti that had shown up over night, which was not only highly offensive in nature, but especially tasteless, as is painted him, Voldemort and the Carrows in an activity they definitely had never engaged in. Well, he had never engaged in – he couldn't really speak for the others. But he was reasonably sure that the Dark Lord hadn't permitted any of his followers to take their ass kissing quite so literally.

Then, he had had to deal with the punishment of a student who the Carrows had caught stealing food from the kitchen, and he had only narrowly been able to prevent Filch from putting the thumbscrews on him.

He had already had a headache before noon. But nothing could have prepared him for the horror that awaited him in the afternoon - when he had received Aberforth's urgent missive, telling him that he'd been contacted by no other than the boy who had gotten himself in a real mess this time. Apparently, the trio had been captured by Snatchers and was being held at Malfoy Manor.

For a moment, his thoughts had run rampant with panic and despair. Everything seemed lost, now that the worst case scenario had suddenly become reality: Harry Potter had been caught, and most likely would be killed within the hour. And he had no fucking clue how to safe him this time.

If not for his Occlumency skills which allowed him to suppress his feelings and lock them firmly behind walls, he wouldn't have been able to clear his head and calmly and methodically sort his options: Blowing his cover and going to Malfoy Manor himself in the vague hope that he'd somehow manage to apparate Potter out; going there under a ruse and trying to talk his way out, like he had done may times before, or alarming the Order and putting the responsibility for a reckless and doomed-to-fail rescue mission in their hands. Neither approach had looked promising.

Sending the house-elf had been a brainwave he still had no idea how he had managed to come up with. Within a second after his calling, the elf had appeared in his office. 'Headmaster Snape has called? How can Dobby help the Headmaster?'

To his immense relief, the elf had answered his question of whether he could still get inside the wards of Malfoy Manor in the affirmative: ' _Dobby is still tied into the wards of his old master's mansion, Sir. Dobby can get in and out without detection'_ , he had assured eagerly.

Severus had made unequivocally clear that he would surely be detected this time, and that it would be a high-risk mission. But Harry Potter's life depended on it. It was all he had needed to say. The elf had immediately and with fierce determination declared that he'd do anything to rescue Harry Potter and bring him to safety.

' _Try to get all of them out, Dobby_ ', Severus had told him, but had added just as firmly: ' _But your priority is Potter. He must be saved at all costs, do you understand?_ '

' _Yes, Headmaster,_ ' the elf had answered eagerly, excitedly flapping his ears. ' _Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter. Dobby will save Harry Potter._ '

And he had saved them all - not only the Golden Trio, but the Lovegood girl, the goblin and Ollivander as well. But at what a cost for the elf himself, and for Hermione!

And yet they could all count themselves lucky that Aberforth had learned about the Golden Trio's capture at all. Without the mirror shard, without being trusted by Dumbledore's brother, Severus wouldn't have known until he was being shown their dead and defiled bodies. He felt an icy shiver run down his spine just at the thought. If he had nightmares, this was a scenario he'd probably be shown frequently.

"It was you? You sent Dobby?" Hermione looked at him with utter surprise, which only now registered with him. Hadn't she known?

He frowned. "Of course I did. Who else could have sent him?"

"Aberforth... Harry saw him in the mirror shard. At the time, he had thought that he was talking to Dumbledore, but we learned later that Aberforth had gotten Sirius' mirror from Mundungus Fletcher. We thought it was him who sent him."

"A house-elf can only be summoned by his owner – or in the case of a free elf – by his employer. Which, being the Headmaster of Hogwarts at the time, technically was me. Aberforth had informed me about your capture via Patronus, and I immediately sent Dobby knowing that he might still be tied into the Malfoys' wards."

"So Aberforth knew about your true loyalty? Did Dumbledore tell him?"

"No. But he was member of the Order of the Phoenix. At some point, Minerva needed to confide in him. He was of strategic importance, given that the secret passageway from his pub led into the Room of Requirement. Someone had to send in food and water to keep those hidden students alive, and it obviously couldn't be me."

"So it was you who saved us – again!" said Hermione, who felt her eyes well up with tears. For one thing, because the memories of what had happened still shook her, but also because knowing now that he had saved them yet again made the antagonism he had been faced with back then all the more unbearable. "And it was you who protected the students of the resistance... I never knew!"

He quirked an eyebrow and quickly offered her a handkerchief. Her shining eyes were alarming. Severus feared that she might break into tears again, which was quite understandable considering her trauma. But he also feared that this time, he wouldn't be able to just stand by and watch. "So the little Know-it-all didn't know it all..." he said, trying for a light tone, hoping to avert the frightening situation he saw coming.

Much to his relief, the manoeuvre was successful. "As far as you are concerned, I suppose I'll never know everything," she said in mild indignation and accepted the handkerchief.

"Not if I can prevent it, no," he agreed.

Hermione shook her head. As determined as he might be to remain occlusive, distant and withdrawn... she had already managed to chink his armour in quite a few places and had gotten through to the man beneath. As unlikely as the thought seemed to be: She strongly suspected that he might pull her into a comforting embrace just like he had in her dream if she were to break down with emotion right now. But she also instinctively knew that the idea of what he might do deeply unsettled him, as it would completely bring down his walls and lay him bare. And she wouldn't do that to him. If she hoped to ever get close to this highly guarded man, she would have to let him set the pace.

"I should have known," she said, gathering her stray thoughts. "Dobby chose to give his loyalty to Harry and to Hogwarts. What did Aberforth ever have to do with him? We never questioned it. And Aberforth didn't tell us when we came to Hogsmeade."

"Of course not. Minerva had put im under oath not to reveal my secret. He was given to understand that it was crucial that Harry didn't know."

"But if Dobby had survived – he surely would have told Harry that it was you who sent him... It would have blown your cover!"

"Yes – now that you're mentioning it," he said ironically. "At the time, I didn't exactly have the leisure to ponder these consequences. Harry probably wouldn't have believed it anyway."

"Yes, he would have, coming from Dobby," Hermione objected.

"Then Dobby has doubly saved Harry by dying for him. Who knows how things might have turned out if he had he known about my true allegiance."

"I often wondered about that..." Hermione murmured. "I believe if you and Harry had been able to work together, Voldemort's demise would have come much sooner."

"We don't know that. There is no use in pondering 'what if's'. What's done is done."

Yes, that was a universal truth, but it was still hard to accept. Looking back and knowing what she knew now, there seemed to have been so many options promising a better outcome. And no matter how she turned it, it always seemed to came back to the trust issue between Harry and Severus. She mostly blamed Dumbledore for it. Why hadn't he taught Harry Occlumency himself, knowing how important it was and how small the likelihood of success when Severus was the one to teach him?

It now seemed to her as if Dumbledore had - ever so subtly - fostered the animosity between the his spy and the boy who lived - knowing that Harry's chance of survival depended on him being in the possession of all Deathly Hallows. And to make sure that the mastery over the Elder Wand would be his, Dumbeldore had even been willing to sacrifice his most loyal servant and spy. Just like Voldemort.

It didn't really make a difference for Hermione that Severus would have given his life willingly to fulfill his promise and his perceived obligation. In that, he had been a lot like Dobby – both of them had been bound in willing servitude and prepared to pay even the ultimate price for the cause – and for Harry Potter. Severus at least had survived, if only by sheer luck. The elf had died for his worship and adoration.

"I'm immensely grateful for what Dobby did," Hermione remarked, sad that there hadn't been a happy end for him. "But his death is another thing I will forever feel guilty about. He died rescuing us."

"Yes," Severus agreed calmly. "And I am responsible for sending him to his death."

"You couldn't know that."

"Maybe not. But I still would have sent him, even if I had known. And he would have come to save you, even if he had known his fate beforehand. He died in loyal service to his chosen masters. There is no greater honour for a house-elf than that. Be proud of him, but don't belittle his sacrifice by feeling responsible for it."

Hermione looked at him with eyes so full of warmth that Severus had to avert his gaze.

"You never cease to amaze me, you know that?" she asked, overcome by emotions that she herself couldn't quite identify. It wasn't only the fact that there were still so many things she didn't know about him, or that everything she learned only made him more a hero. It wasn't just the fact that everything that was revealed proved the depth of his torment and made his bravery and his determination all the more admirable. All that also cast a light on the human side of him – showing her a man with such depth and capacity of emotion that was all the more overwhelming because no one would ever guess.

"You're the one who saved me from coming to even greater harm," she told him with great solemnity. "You rescued me from Malfoy Manor, twice. In reality, by sending help and thus saving our lives, and yesterday night, in my dream, by being there. You were comforting me, telling me to not give up and to find shelter within my own mind. And it helped - for the first time ever, I didn't wake up panicky, crying and nauseated to the point of vomiting. I woke up feeling - released, and safe. You have led me to the happy place in your mind."

"Well, it seems like your Occlumency skills are kicking in," the obtuse man only said, still stubbornly refusing to look into her eyes. "Good! I was hoping for that."

Hermione shook her head at his insistence to deny his importance in her life. "But I still have no idea how to occlude," she pointed out logically. "I don't even have my own hiding place. I used yours."

Severus shrugged. He didn't mind sharing it with her. "It doesn't matter," he declared. "I told you, it's not a skill that can be learned like Transfiguration, Potions or Arithmancy. Occlumency is more like Divination in that regard. Both belong to a more obscure, mystic branch of magic that deal with the mind and the subconscious. Thus, everything is highly individual, and there is not one way of learning."

Hermione didn't really agree. She knew that the fact that she was getting better – physically, mentally and emotionally – had nothing to do with Occlumency, but everything with him. He was the wind that had gently given her directions when she was lost. He had relieved her of her burdens and had helped her deal with them one at a time. He had been there for her, steadfast, reliable, like a rock. Her own subconscious had obviously picked up on these facts, understood them at a deeper level, even before her conscious mind had. He had saved her in her dream because she knew that he would always try everything within his power to keep her safe. Her trust in him was so deeply rooted that it had begun to change her subconscious awareness.

The realisation didn't hit her - it was more like a soft enlightenment. There was no denying it: She loved him, plain and simple. He awed her, impressed her and gave her security - and yet he made her also feel oddly protective of him. He calmed her, grounded her and excited her at the same time. He was always so harsh and abrasive and yet so gentle at heart. He was a bundle of contradictions. It would take a lifetime to figure him out, and she'd be glad to serve the time.

And yet her obstinate teacher and mentor didn't seem to have the slightest idea about all the emotions he evoked in her. And she wouldn't tell him – yet. He wasn't ready to hear it in such simple words. She'd be just as patient with him as he'd been with her.

"You can look at it that way, if you want," she merely said, shrugging, and picked up her quill again. "But even if it was Occlumency that helped me, it's still you who taught me. No matter how you turn it – you were the one who saved me, body and mind." She didn't look up again to see the impact her words had on him, kindly sparing him from having to come up with anything to say.

*'*'*'*'*

The remaining week before the holidays passed quickly. Hermione had taken the Prying Potion three more times – always under the same strict rules her adamant teacher had set for them. She had gotten rather good at spotting his intrusions, and even managed to thwart his attempts a couple of times by concentrating hard on something else.

To Hermione's great delight – as well as to Harry's – Severus had accepted the invitation to spend the Christmas days at Grimmauld Place. As promised, he had even been reasonably pleasant with his answer, although it had been a bit stiff and formal.

Hermione, who had tried some experimental reverse charms on the quill he had given her a while before, had been curious and had immediately written Severus' response on a piece of parchement, in the same wording that Harry had relayed to her: _'I'm surprised that you should wish for my company, especially on such an occasion. But I believe politeness dictates that I accept your invitation, despite having great doubts about the wisdom of both, your resolve to invite me and my decision not to decline._ '

Then she had spoken the charm which translated what Hermione had dubbed 'Snape-Speech' into what he most likely had meant to say. Puzzled, she had re-read the sentences, coming to the conclusion that the spell wasn't working properly yet, as it now read: ' _I'm deeply moved that you want to be with me. The whole situation scares the shit out of me, though._ '

Okay, that was most likely _not_ what he had meant to say. But she had felt that the spell had caught the essence of his feelings right: He was positively surprised about the invitation, but at the same time worried that it wouldn't work out and both would end up disappointed. Afraid that he wouldn't know how to act in such an unfamiliar setting. Or maybe he feared that others might notice the shift in his and Hermione's relationship and realise that they were more to each other than teacher and pupil, mentor and assistant. Maybe he was afraid her friends might disapprove.

If she gave it too much thought, she'd probably start worrying about it, too. However, she wasn't willing to give in to such pessimism. They were going to be among friends. They were going to have a lot of fun with the mock gift exchange. She already knew what to take. Now she only needed to find a real present for him.

Hermione was still trying to come up with an with an inspiring idea, when, much to her surprise, he beat her to it.

"I have something for you," Severus announced when came to his office two days before the holidays, and rather unceremoniously presented her with a bottle filled with a bright orange potion.

"A Christmas gift?" Hermione asked, delighted. He had gotten her a Christmas present!

"As it is obviously is not Christmas yet and we will apparently be doing a white elephant gift exchange to celebrate the festive event – no. This, I have made specifically for you."

"What is it?" Curious, Hermione opened the potion and sniffed.

He frowned at her. "You should know better than to sniff an unknown potion, Miss Granger! Even the vapours could possible kill you."

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to brew me a deadly poison as a not-for-Christmas gift," Hermione retorted, sniffing again. "This smells nice. I think there is Soaproot in it, so I take it that it's not meant to be ingested?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. This is a cleaning potion for your hair – to be used instead of those unhealthy Muggle products with Merlin-knows-what in it. I thought that if I can make toothpaste, I might as well try my hand at something you seem to feel in desperate need of."

"You think I'm in desperate need of shampoo?"

He rolled his eyes. "No," he said, stretching the syllable, as if he was answering a particularly stupid question. "But you constantly whine about your hair. I experimented with the potion I use for mine and tried to customise it. Put one hair of yours into the bottle and shake it well before first using it."

"Oh – is this similar to Sleekeazy's potion for unruly hair?" she asked, her eyes lightening up with interest.

He gave her a disapproving look. "If your are referring to the quack remedy you so liberally worked into your hair for the Yule Ball to force it into submission – no."

"Well, what's it going to do if not tame it and make it more manageable?"

"I see no need to 'tame' your hair, as you're putting it. This potion is designed to work with your hair, not against it. It's supposed to optimise what you have rather than try to make it into something that it's not. And yours is neither tame, nor sleek." Her hair was exuberant, obstinate, crazy. Just like her. He found he rather liked it. Especially now that it was getting some of its vibrancy back.

"Have you been using it on yours?" She critically eyed his head, probably doubting the potion's miraculous properties.

"Not this new and improved formula."

"Why – you wanted to try it on me first? In case of unfavourable side effects?"

He smirked. "That, too. But mainly because I think the flowery scent wouldn't suit me."

"Yes, I believe you're right..." Hermione agreed, sniffing again. "I'll give it try. I'll thank you for it only after being sure that I'm not going to lose my hair completely or end up looking like a mop."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" he said ironically. "I've never brewed or invented a potion before, so you've got to cut me some slack."

"Haha, funny! Why hasn't anybody else noticed that you actually have a sense of humour?"

"Because I do my best to keep it hidden and only let it out on very special occasions. It might ruin my hard-earned reputation even more than great looking hair that smells like blossoms of orange and jasmine. Now, if you don't mind, let's see that we get some work done."

*'*'*'*'*'*

The next evening, when she came to say good-bye to him before heading off for the holidays, Hermione was smiling all over her face. "You wonderful, wonderful man!" she exclaimed exuberantly and planted a kiss on his cheek. Severus almost dropped the jar he'd just been putting back on the shelf in shock.

"What in Merlin's name was that for?" he demanded, looking at her with a frown that was supposed to hide his confusion. Dam the girl. She couldn't go around and kiss unsuspecting people like that! She clearly had no idea what she was doing. As if she wasn't wreaking a world of havoc with his emotions just by everything else she said and did around him.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked, excitedly turning in circles in front of him. "Look at me!"

He did. She was beautiful, her lips smiling brightly, her eyes shining with joy, her hair flying in all directions. Ah! It finally clicked. She had used the hair potion. The result was as expected. He wasn't a renowned Potions Master for nothing.

"It's still rather voluminous," he said, glancing at her bouncing curls that were catching the light of the torches and glowing in dark golds, rich ambers and warm maroons. "And not sleek."

"No," she beamed and stopped twirling. "It's curly, but not bushy! And it even stays wavy after I comb it! Before, brushing my hair would invariable make me look as if I stuck my finger into a socket. But the shampoo... it's wonderful! So simple and so effective! I was even able to use a drying spell on my hair! This is so great – now I won't have to let it air-dry anymore, which took forever in this castle and always gave me colds in winter."

He couldn't resist reaching out and gently pulling on one of her long curls until it stretched almost to her waist, watching how it bounced back into shape as soon as he let go. "It looks alive," he said softly. "I like it."

For a moment, she just stared mesmerised into his face as he was standing in front of her. She was pretty sure that hairs didn't have nerves, but she could still feel a mild tingle in her scalp where the strand attached to her skin. It hadn't even been a touch – surely, pulling on one's hair, however gently, didn't qualify as touch. And yet it made her feel so much more than Ron's hands on her bare skin ever had. She wanted him to do so much more than touch her hair... Even though she knew it was wrong on so many levels, she wished he'd throw caution into the wind, to kiss her senseless and ravish her right here on the lab table.

Severus breath caught in his throat as she stared up at him, desire and longing oh so evident in her eyes. Merlin help him!

"Hermione..."

"No." She quickly put a finger on his mouth, forbidding him to speak. If he was going to tell her that they had to be sensible and keep their wits about them, she didn't want to hear it. If he was going to apologise for affecting her so much with his innocent touch, she didn't want to hear it either. "Don't say it, please. Just don't say anything. Thank you for the most wonderful not-for-Christmas gift I ever received. I have something for you, too, though I fear it pales in comparison."

She reached into the small, beaded handbag she had hidden inside her robe and pulled out a package wrapped in surprisingly tasteful Christmas paper. "Don't open it now – I don't want you to feel pressured to fake enthusiasm if you think it's dreadful. You may open these, though." She pulled out a tin box that seemed far to big to have fitted into her purse. "Cookies. I threatened the house-elves that I would start knitting hats again if the didn't let me use the kitchen. I made them myself. Oh, and before I forget..." She blushed and pulled another bundle from her extended purse. "Here's your robe back."

The last made him frown. "You're sure you don't have need of it anymore?" They were not even in the middle of winter yet. It might get colder in January.

"No, not really." Not even a trace of his scent lingered. "It has faded."

He gave her puzzled look and Hermione realised her blunder. Her slight rosy colour turned a shade darker. "I mean – the spores. They are gone. The aura has faded. Luna has confirmed it." Which had actually made Hermione wonder if Luna had somehow been able to _see_ Severus scent on his robe. She wished she could just give it to him for a refill.

"I see," he said, though truly, he didn't. "I assume you bought yourself a new robe in the meanwhile?" he asked, taking back the piece of clothing she held out to him.

Hermione looked confused. "No – why? I have my Kimono."

"That flimsy silky thing you call a dressing robe is hardly sufficient to keep you warm, Miss Granger!" he growled, and resolutely pushed the bundle back at her. "Keep it!"

"What? No, I couldn't..."

He really didn't mean to embarrass her because of her obvious financial straits, but he'd rather risk wounding her pride than having her risk her health.

"I'm not trying to help you get your health back for you to waste my efforts by catching pneumonia! If you don't take it, it'll be my contribution for the White Elephant. No one else will want it."

"I... well, if you insist... Thank you!" Hermione reached out to take the robe back. It was nice and warm. Apart from liking the scent, she had never been cold in it. An idea sprang to her mind and she pulled her hands back. "You know, I'm just realising...", she said and smiled at him, "that I won't be needing it at Grimmauld Place. Harry will wonder why I'm wearing your robe. Just keep it until after the holidays, will you?"

She looked at him with a strangely hopeful expression. Severus just didn't get the girl. He had the feeling that she was on about something, but he had no clue as to what it could be. "Very well," he sighed, not sure if he even wanted to know.

"Maybe you could keep wearing it in the meanwhile?" she suggested. "You know – since your spores are purple, they're good against my Gloomilows."

"If you keep repeating this nonsense, people will think you are as crazy as Miss Lovegood."

"Actually, I'm beginning to think that she is the only really sane person around," Hermione said, now smiling happily. "Thank you. For two really awesome gifts."

"You're welcome," he said, at a loss for words otherwise. Maybe there wasn't anything else that needed to be said right now. "I'll see you on Christmas Eve."

"Yes." She kept smiling. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

 _A/N: (March 2018)_

 _I'm afraid you're really going to be mad at me now... After all your comments telling me how much you were looking forward to Christmas at Grimmauld Place, I feel really bad telling you now that it was never intended to be part of the story originally._

 _I wrote the White Elephant gift exchange scene, just for the fun of it, but I stopped when everybody had his/her present. But since then (encouraged by so many reviews asking for the Christmas chapter), I've added considerably to it, so much in fact, that it turned into a story of it's own._

 _One part of it actually is a long conversation between Harry and Severus about the night his parents died. That, too, has morphed into a story of similar length and structure as 'A Kiss for the Netherfairies.' Given that Christmas season has passed, I'll be finishing that one first. It's undergoing beta-ing right now, and will be posted shortly._

 _I'm positive that the Christmas story will be up before the holiday season this year, too. :)  
_


	15. Holiday Aftermath

Summary of Chapter 15 – What Dreams May Come

Hermione has another nightmare of being tortured in Malfoy Manor. This time, however, Severus appears in her dream and saves her by leading her out of it. When Hermione tells him about her dream, she is surprised to learn that it was Severus who sent Dobby to their rescue when they were held at Malfoy Manor. For the first time, she fully realises that she loves him, but does not tell him, thinking that he isn't ready to accept it yet. Severus accepts Harry invitation to Grimmauld Place for Christmas. Before they leave for the holidays, he gives Hermione a hair-cleaning potion that he has developed especially for her 'trouble hair', which makes her very happy. He also spontaneously gifts her with his robe when Hermione finally wants to return it, which makes her even happier. She thanks him, and they both part looking forward to seeing each other for Christmas.

* * *

 **Holiday Aftermath**

The holidays had passed quickly. The rather unusual Christmas gathering at Grimmauld Place had been a full success. Any awkwardness had been chased away quickly by the holiday spirit, which, in its more physical form, had consisted of mulled wine, butterbeer and firewhiskey.

Hermione thought she must have gained a pound or two with all the cookies, cakes and chocolates they had eaten, not to speak of the delicious Christmas fare Kreacher, Harry's reformed house-elf, had prepared for them. The fact that she had revelled in the rich meals just like everybody else had earned her a few teasing remarks from those who remembered her S.P.E.W campaign from fourth year. She had learned from experience though, and had showered Kreacher with compliments and praise instead of bemoaning his status. The fact that he had downright gleamed with pleasure and gone out of his way to serve her even better had helped to appease her guilty conscience.

All things considered, everybody had gotten along surprisingly well. Having Teddy around had served as ice breaker and dispelled any tension within the unlikely group that had found themselves together at Grimmauld Place. A bit dumbfounded, Draco had realised that he was blood-related to little Theodore Lupin. His family had not entertained any contact with Andromeda Black, Teddy's grandmother and Draco's aunt. Due to her marriage with a Muggle, she had been considered a blood-traitor by his parents. Much to Remus' surprise, Draco had no such reservations anymore, and been eager to point out that he was in fact Teddy's great-cousin. He had spent quite a lot of time on the floor, playing with the toddler. Just like anyone else, the toddler had him firmly wrapped around his chubby baby fingers.

Although her holidays at Grimmauld Place had been relaxing, Hermione was glad to be at Hogwarts again. She had only seen Severus for Christmas, and the remaining week until New Year's Eve had seemed surprisingly long. For New Year's Eve, she, Luna, Harry and Draco had gone out 'clubbing' – another thing Hermione would never have envisioned in her wildest dreams before the war. A lot of things had changed for the better. Despite her scars and the horrors that were etched forever into her skin and her mind, she slowly started regaining a sense of something she thought to have lost forever: her optimism.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt good. All of the measures Severus had initiated were showing effect: The nutrient potion had stabilised her weight and restored her appetite. The fare she was now served for lunch and dinner was lighter and didn't upset her stomach anymore, so she was slowly but continuously gaining back the weight she had lost.

Her sleep pattern had much improved, too. Seeing Luna sleeping next to her when she woke from a nightmare anchored her in reality and helped her go back to sleep.

Well, that, and Severus' coat. She still didn't think that her occlumentic skills were progressed far enough to have an influence on her dreams. But her subconscious was more at peace now than it had been weeks ago. She still had nightmares – of being a child again, feeling lost and full of fear, running after her parents, only to find them staring at her with cold eyes and telling her that they didn't have a daughter; of Severus dying in the Shrieking Shack, claiming that she didn't need him and would be better off without him; of Nagini, who descended on Harry while she stood by helplessly watching, because she simply didn't know what to do. But her worst nightmare – that of Malfoy Manor – hadn't returned as of yet.

Her magic had become much more stable and powerful, too. Only after Hermione had stopped carrying around her emergency equipment had she realised how much it had drawn on her strength. Having made peace with her new wand had also helped to stabilise her magic – it no longer felt alien in her hands and performed without trouble.

She hadn't had another panic attack since the one in the Ball Room, though Hermione didn't let it lull her into a false sense of security. She knew that there were triggers that could send her into a state of mindless fright without warning any time – like looking into a mirror and suddenly seeing Bellatrix staring back at her. But whenever anxiety had risen within her, just clutching the port-key and knowing that it would transport her to Severus immediately if need be had been enough to calm her.

Hermione was fully aware of just how much he'd been helping her – he was behind everything that had changed for the better. Talking to him about her issues had helped considerably, but his presence alone was soothing and relaxing.

Still, it was a torturous manoeuvring that they were doing around each other, and the holidays had only made it more obvious. Firstly, there had been the awkwardness of not knowing what to call the other. It would have been odd for Harry and Hermione to continue calling him Professor Snape, while they addressed Lupin as Remus and while Severus was on a first-name basis with Draco.

So they had agreed on using each other's first name when in private, which hadn't come easy to Severus and Harry. Severus had still called his godson 'Potter' on more than one occasion, and Harry, who was perfectly okay with this, had simply dropped the 'Professor' when addressing his godfather in return, settling on calling him 'Snape'. It was informal with just a hint of grudging familiarity, and allowed them to keep up the pretence of still disliking each other. Probably for the same reason, Draco often called Hermione 'Granger'. Or maybe it was a guy thing.

Hermione was happy that she was finally allowed to call the man she deeply cared about by his given name when in private. Although she didn't mind calling him 'sir' – it was, after all, an expression of esteem. But calling him by his title had felt more and more ridiculous lately. For one thing, she didn't want to draw unwelcome attention to the fact that he was her professor, for another, he'd been Severus in her mind for a long time now. They had kissed, for God's sake – even twice, by now. Although the second kiss had been forced on them by a charmed and strategically placed bunch of mistletoe hanging from a doorway. Fortunately, they had run into each other beneath it and had been held stuck until they had kissed. Well, she had considered it fortunate, she wasn't so sure about him. Not that she thought he had minded kissing her. Quite the contrary. She had every reason to suspect that it had affected him as much as it had affected her. But there had been a noticeable reluctance on his part she found hard to describe. As if he was holding back.

He was always so carefully controlled around her. It was part of what attracted her to him. Ron had sometimes frightened her a bit with his volatile temper and his impulsiveness. Not because he could get furious easily – after all, the same was true for their Potions professor. But Ron's reactions were often over the top and out of the blue, especially after the war. It was hard to anticipate how he would react in a given situation, and if stressed, he was likely to fly off the handle.

It was strange, now that she thought about it. Ron was moody, while Severus was in a bad mood by default. But he was predictable because of it. Yes, general grumpiness could turn into anger or even fury, but it never happened without ample warning. You always knew what you were in for: Do this, or say that and you risk the Potion Professor's wrath coming upon you. Yet even when he was furious, he rarely ever shouted. He usually got all the more quiet the angrier he felt, which Hermione appreciated, because in a potentially volatile situation, a calm voice at least evoked a semblance of reason, no matter how menacing it sounded.

Severus' unwavering control made her feel safe and sound, but it also stirred in her the thrill of imagining maybe one day seeing this buttoned-up man come undone. Sometimes, it seemed to her as if the tight hold he had on his emotions was already coming apart at the seams.

He had warned her before that he saw difficulties in keeping up a platonic friendship between them. It probably would have been easier if she had remained 'Miss Granger'. But now she was the woman – at least she hoped he thought of her as a woman and not as a girl – he had kissed twice. If it had been difficult to pretend nothing had changed after their first kiss, it had become outright impossible after their second.

Hermione knew that distancing himself from her, like he had noticeably been doing after the holidays, was his attempt to find safe ground again. He hadn't even mentioned resuming her Occlumency lessons. She understood that going into her mind was like skating on very thin ice, but she had no intention of giving up on her lessons, now that she had come this far. Not as far as being close to mastering the skill, of course, but far enough to have grasped the concept.

She decided to take it slowly and address the matter casually instead of forcing it upon him. Fortunately, something came up that put her in a really good mood and gave her an excellent excuse for an out-of-schedule visit to the dungeon lab.

Silently, she slipped in, so as not to break the Potion Master's concentration in case he was counting stirs. But he was just preparing potion ingredients for tomorrow's classes, and immediately looked up when he heard her enter. "What are you looking so happy about?" he asked, seeing her smiling face.

Well, there was seeing him, of course, which always lighted her heart and often made it beat faster, too. But this time, she had added reason for happiness. "My mother has answered my letter – the one I sent them for Christmas."

Severus knew she had been nervous about writing them – not as their case agent, but privately, as Harmony Miller. "That's great, Hermione," he said, feeling happy for her. "What does she say?"

"That they were thrilled to hear from me and that they would love to stay in contact, even if I was no longer working on their case. I have told them that I no longer work for the government at all, but am kind of in-between-jobs at the moment.

"So they really have taken a liking to you. Interesting, in deed."

"Yes. I believe some very deep parts of their memories must still be intact." Hermione's voice carried a hint of wistful sadness when she added: "They said they felt as if they had known me for ages, something about me seemed so familiar."

"Don't fret – it's a good thing. You obviously cannot obliviate feelings. They still love you. They just don't know it right now."

"They asked me if I could look after the house for them. They are still not sure if they should keep it or sell it. They're thinking about renting it out."

He lifted his eyes from the cutting board and gave her a scrutinising glance. "Does the thought bother you?"

"Not as much as it did a couple of months ago," she answered, and picked up a cutting board and a knife herself to help him with the tedious task of slicing Erumpent tendons. "It's not so much different with them being in Australia than it was with me being at Hogwarts. I only saw them for the holidays. In my everyday life, it doesn't make a difference whether they're down under or here. They sound happy. My dad took up fishing. Oh, and my mum is thinking about writing a book! A fantasy novel, can you imagine?"

"A fairy tale?"

"Fantastical stories – like those she always read to me when I was a child: Lord of the Rings, the Never-ending Story, the Chronicles of Narnia... I would have preferred non-fiction, but she loved books on magic and secret worlds. Even then she thought about writing. But she stopped reading fantasy books when it turned out that I was witch."

"Why?" Severus asked, finding this to be a rather paradoxical reaction.

"It sounds strange, I know. I suppose that for her all magical beings – the unicorns, the vampires, the ghosts and the giants – were unthreatening while they all just existed in stories, fairy-tales and in fantasy. She found magic enchanting and exciting, but after she found out that it was all real... it turned her world upside down. She was a very rational, scientific person, and to find that her distinction between fantasy and reality didn't really exist put everything she had believed in into question. She didn't want it to be real. It made her uncomfortable. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't do a good thing for her by obliviating all of that from her mind... It's as if by taking me – and witchcraft – out of her life, I somehow gave her the magic back. It looks like it's giving her joy and inspiration again, not fear."

"I'm almost afraid to ask – but what is this story going to be about?"

Hermione looked slightly abashed. "Well, it lends proof to your theory about deeply hidden memories..." she said, grimacing. "It's a story about magicians who live undetected in Britain, forming secret society. The heroine is a little girl, who, after finding out that she is gifted, sets out on a mission to save the world from an evil sorceress. She hasn't worked out the details yet."

Severus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, conveying astonishment, bemusement and a bit of wariness. Hermione herself hadn't been sure if she should laugh or cry when she had first read it in her mum's letter. But then she had begun to see the humour in it... and – oh! – the possibilities...

"I think I'm going to encourage her and maybe give her some ideas..." she said casually.

Severus gave her an distrustful look. "Like what?"

Smart man. He already knew her too well. Hermione grinned. "Well, I would tell her that the story definitely needed a dark hero. Someone who was misjudged by everyone and thought to be evil, but who turned out to be a Prince in the end. Of course, he would get the girl, too."

He snorted. "Make sure to tell her that he's young and attractive."

Hermione vehemently shook her head. "Oh no! I'll tell her that he's old and grumpy. Well, not white-beard-old, but grown-up and mature. And sort of mean. That's the charm of it, don't you see?

"I'm afraid I don't. But then, I'm probably not the target audience."

"I know she'll love it," Hermione said, her voice full of conviction. "After all, she fell in love with an older man herself. I think I should tell her to name the girl Harriet."

"And use Miller as a family name," he suggested sarcastically. "So as not to make it too obvious."

"Good idea!" Hermione praised, unconsciously or knowingly ignoring his irony. "Can you imagine? 'Harriet Miller and the Stone of Wisdom'. We'd better not call it 'Philosopher's Stone' or the ministry would be alarmed."

"Most likely. And the evil sorcerer?"

"Oh, there are plenty of options: Snakeface, Voldilord, Moldywart..."

He shook his head. "You're totally insane."

"Hey, I'm not the one who invented the story. I'm going to write back to her again. Oh, this is going to be fun! Underhandedly, I get to tell her everything I never dared to tell her before... It's probably therapeutic as well."

"Probably."

"Speaking about therapeutic..." Hermione ventured, wondering if this qualified as 'subtle' and 'hinting'. Probably not. "When are we going to pick up my Occlumency lessons again?"

He paused, then carefully put the knife aside. "I'm not really sure if it's wise to continue them..." he said reluctantly.

Oh no. She had feared that answer. "Why not?" she still had to ask.

He heaved a sigh. "Hermione..." he started, struggling for the words to explain, while reluctant to give too much away. He tried for a reasonable, convincing tone. "I told you before why I felt that me teaching you Occlumency is not really a smart idea given our situation..."

"You're distancing yourself again," she remarked, feeling sadness and disappointment wash over her. He didn't deny it. His face was impassive, not giving anything away.

"You're even wearing your mask again. Why? I thought we had passed beyond this."

This time, her hurt was almost palpable. Severus felt guilty. But she didn't understand. And he didn't know how to explain. "Yes, we have passed beyond it. And that is exactly why: It's going too fast."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Isn't that my line?"

"You're the one who keeps pushing the boundaries."

She had known it: It had been the kiss. She had driven him away with that second kiss. So it had been reluctance she had felt. Inadvertently she had done the same thing to him again as before. She had forced him into a situation he hadn't wanted to be in. Well, emotionally and physically he clearly had wanted it, but not mentally. She had acted like a typical Gryffindor, following her heart, not her mind. Once again, she had failed to consider his feelings. "I'm sorry about forcing you into kissing me again," she said, stricken. "I shouldn't have..."

Severus saw shame and guilt flash on her face and was appalled at himself for having made her draw such a ridiculous conclusion. "Don't ever dare apologise for that!" he admonished her. God, to think that she would berate herself for wanting to kiss him! "Besides, it wasn't your fault. It was the Mistletoe."

"But it was my fault," she objected with a small voice. "Who do you think gave Harry the idea of putting it up in the first place?"

It had been easy to convince him of the mistletoe's merit. It was charmed to only work for potential lovers – in the widest sense of the word 'potential'. It wouldn't have done anything had Severus and Remus met beneath it. But it had held Draco and Harry spell-locked, just as Harry had hoped it would.

"Even so," Severus said, granting her absolution. "It's not as if I couldn't have blasted the damn thing." Or he could have contented himself with a mere peck on her cheeks, like Lupin had. He probably would have – if it hadn't been for the fact that Draco had been caught under it with Hermione just a few hours before, and that he had all but shoved his tongue down her throat when kissing her. True, the explanation he had smirkingly given to a very flustered Hermione and the equally flabbergasted audience had smoothed all ruffled feathers. But after seeing Draco kiss her, he had felt the primitive urge to stake his claim on her, like some caveman. The truth was, he had wanted to kiss her again. The Mistletoe had given him just the excuse he had needed to defend his actions to himself.

"Then how am I pushing your boundaries, if not by my forcing you into this second kiss?" Hermione asked, at a loss.

He shook his head. As if it wasn't plainly obvious; even Minerva had noticed. "You made me talk to Draco again and be nice to Luna Lovegood," he started to enumerate. "You made me take an assistant. For heaven's sake – you made me spend Christmas with Harry Potter and Lupin! At one point, I even ended up with a drooling toddler on my lap, though I still don't know how the hell that happened. I'm an unfriendly misanthrope, and yet there I was, spending time in the company of people I used to despise, playing nice with them! You also made me visit Prince House during the holidays and talk to my aunt. Within just a few weeks, you've pretty much turned my life upside down. Yes, this is going too fast."

"You spoke to your aunt?" Hermine asked, surprised.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yes. But that's beside the point right now. Or rather – that's exactly the point – you ask, and I end up telling you in detail what she said, and what I said, and how I felt about the entire thing."

She frowned. "I fail to see why that's a bad thing. It's what friends do – talking to each other and sharing their thoughts and feelings..."

He gave another, resigned sigh. Was she really that naive? He knew that students tended to regard their teachers as basically sexless beings, as they well should. But he also knew that she didn't harbour any such delusion about him. He seriously doubted that being friends with a female – – especially a smart and beautiful one – was at all possible, if the man was completely honest with himself. What man wouldn't entertain certain thoughts about a woman he deeply cared for? She'd have to be ugly in the extreme not to appeal to his baser instincts, and Hermione certainly didn't fall in that category. She knew how he felt about her. Or at least he thought he had made that abundantly clear.

"It's not like I want us to hop into bed or anything..." Hermione added to her own trail of thought. "I'm not ready for that anyway."

She wasn't a virgin anymore, but her first attempts at sex with Ron had not exactly made her crave that kind of intimacy. She wasn't so naive as to assume that sex had a chance of being great without some practice and learning about each others bodies first, and certainly not without being comfortable enough with your partner to actually be able to talk about it. But neither she nor Ron had been that knowledgeable or comfortable even with their own bodies, and not even remotely comfortable enough to discuss their findings with each other. So the whole thing had been somewhat disappointing, and hadn't even come close to her expectations. And Severus was not an inexperienced, clueless boy like Ron. In that regard, his age and the fact that he was a mature man did make a difference – and it made thinking of sex with him more than a little bit intimidating.

"No, you're not," he promptly agreed, feeling alarmed at the thought. "And neither am I." No matter what liberties he had taken already – this was a line he wouldn't cross with a girl or even a woman who was obviously inexperienced and least partly his student – no matter if she was of age, mature beyond her years, willing, enticing and altogether lovable.

"But if we are agreed on that, which boundaries do you insist on keeping?"

He groaned. Didn't she realise that with the undeniable sexual tension between them, going into her mind was the last thing he needed? Didn't she know that it was difficult enough to keep his wits about and their relationship platonic when she was around him?

"I do not wish to delve into your mind, because this," he gestured at an invisible line between them, "it's complicated enough as it is. We spent the holidays together at your friend's house. We kissed – twice! You're now calling me Severus in private. You talk about friendship and see me as a confidant... it's blurring the lines to the point of them becoming non-existent. How am I supposed to maintain my professional demeanour around you?"

She looked at him with a frown that told him she hadn't gotten the point. "Professor Lupin is a friend to us even though he is a teacher. We call him by his first name whenever we meet in private. We visit him at home and play with Teddy..."

Severus decided to forgo Slytherin subtlety for once and be blunt with her. "Do you ever feel Lupin's gaze lingering on you longer than it should?" he asked in his most silky voice, leaning forward and pinning her with his gaze. He could see how her breath caught and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Do you ever see him fold his arms firmly around his chest and clench his fingers into a fist to prevent himself from reaching out and touching you?" he pressed on, and felt his own heartbeat pick up in response to the reaction he had fully intended to cause in her.

Barely noticeably she shook her head, completely mesmerised.

In a husky whisper he asked the question that would hopefully drive his point home: "Do you ever see him looking at you with anything but fatherly concern in his eyes?"

"No..." she stuttered, struck by the implication of his words, the power of emotions behind them and the feelings they evoked.

"Then you can't compare the two of us," he murmured, still in that low, slightly dark tone, before he leaned back again, retreating from her personal space.

Hermione stared at him with her mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say. So he clearly _did_ feel physically attracted, and his reaction to their last kiss had not just been a natural response in the light of circumstances. Knowing that he desired her like that was more than flattering her female ego. She had never thought that she was capable of evoking such a reaction in a man. It had taken Ron years to even realise that she was a girl, and his sudden advances last year hadn't had anything to do with finding her irresistible. She had simply been there, just as scared, stretched too thin and in need of comfort, nearness and human touch as he had been. They both had felt familiar with each other, and they had both been curious. That had been enough at the time. But Hermione had never deluded herself into thinking that she had inspired lust in him just by being herself. Had it been any other woman, the result would have been the same. She strongly doubted that the same was true for Severus.

He wanted her. A man as world-wise, controlled, and unemotional to the point of coming across as cold – and he desired her. It was exhilarating, though admittedly a bit scary, too. She had always been comfortable knowing that he wouldn't ever compromise his honour, or hers. If he felt the need to distance himself from her now, because he felt attracted, even aroused by her, did it mean that he was afraid he might lose control and... and do what exactly? Kiss her again? Bend her over the desk and have his way with her? Merlin! Her breathing quickened. The thought was thrilling and a bit terrifying at the same time. She doubted she'd put up any resistance, although it was one thing to imagine such scenarios in the dark, in the privacy of her bed, but quite another to really face such a possibility in broad daylight. She had counted on him to keep a level head, for she probably wouldn't, if push came to shove...

"Do you mean to say that... being around me, going into my head... that it might make you – lose control and... let yourself be carried away by the moment?" she asked a bit timidly, not exactly sure how to phrase this question. Still, Severus seemed to understand what she was getting at. Or maybe not? He seemed horrified.

"What? No!" he exclaimed, shocked to see that his drastic explanation had obviously made her fear that he might force himself on her. "That's not at all what I meant – I would never..." He took a deep breath, not sure what he wanted to assure her that he wouldn't ever do. Merlin, he was not some hormone driven teenager who couldn't control himself. His physical reactions were not even the real problem. His emotional reactions were. Both taken together were wreaking havoc in his heart and mind.

The plain and simple truth was: She had gotten way too close. Distancing himself seemed like the logical countermeasure. But as he now realised, it also meant punishing Hermione for his own shortcomings and hurting her in the process. There was no reason for stopping her Occlumency lessons – only the unsettling feeling of nearness and intimacy, that was even stronger when he was inside her mind. If he truly wanted to distance himself, he would have to go back to only having professional contact with her, and he realised a bit belatedly that such an approach was totally out of the question.

"Forget what I said," he said resolutely, making a decision. "We will pick up your lessons again tomorrow evening. And see if you can come up with a shield that's more effective than ice or canvas."

* * *

 _A/N: As to Severus' emotional reaction (being rather calm and controlled even when angry) – I went with Alan Rickman's performance in the movies, which I found more convincing than with Ms. Rowlings descriptions in the books. A spy who is emotional (and starts ranting and spitting when angry) won't stay a spy too long. In the movies, Severus was always wearing an impassive face, unless he chose to appear menacing, which he mostly did just with his eyes. Priceless! Snape will forever be Rickman for me!_


	16. In the Flesh

Summary of Chapter 15 – Holiday Aftermath 

During the holidays, Hermione, Harry and Severus agree to address each other by their first name when in private. Due to a strategically placed Mistletoe and other circumstances, Hermione and Severus kiss again. When Severus tries to distance himself again from her when back in Hogwarts and doesn't want to resume her Occlumency lessons, Hermione thinks it's because of the kiss and feels guilty for having pushed him too far. Severus, with all the tools at his disposal, tries to make her understand the reason for his need of distance. However, he unintentionally leads Hermione to believe that he's afraid to loose control of himself and might be tempted to cross the line he has drawn.

She, on the other hand, is not trembling in fear at this possibility, but is rather worried that she might not protest too much. Severus misunderstands and wants to reassure her – it's not his physical reaction he is concerned about, but his emotional issues. Rather than explain those in more detail, he agrees to pick up her Occlumency lessons again.

 _A/N: Thanks again to all of you for your wonderful reviews! I appreaciate each and every one of them! I cannot promise another update next week-end, but I'll try. In any case, our hero is in for some mind-blowing discoveries in the next chapters. Hope you'll enjoy!_

* * *

 **In the Flesh**

The slightly terse manner in which Severus had given in to her request and subsequently sent her off had not fazed Hermione in the slightest. She was just happy that he had relented at all. If gruffness was what he needed to establish his distance, it was fine with her. She found it rather entertaining by now.

Nevertheless, she had taken up on his 'advice' and had spent the remainder of the day mulling over her shield. When she had first come up with it, she had been more than a little proud of her wall of ice, as it didn't have the weak spots of a classical brick wall. Until Severus had proven to her that it had other weaknesses instead...

She still remembered how the touch of his mind had felt against it – a featherlight caress, a warm breeze – it had instantly made her want to surrender. Her wall had simply melted beneath his touch, and before she knew what was happening, he had been inside her mind. If today's demonstration was any indication, she strongly suspected that if he were to touch her with his hands instead of his mind, her surrender would be just as fast and complete...

Realising where her thoughts were drifting, Hermione firmly told herself to get a grip and get back to the topic at hand. Indulging in fantasies now certainly wouldn't help with her task: Finding a new way to shield.

The canvas screens had been a spontaneous idea, and she had known right away that they wouldn't keep anybody out. She needed something different, something stronger. Hermione had come across an interesting piece of information when studying all those otherwise unhelpful books on Occlumency, and she had carefully filed it away for later pondering: A rather subtextual theory whereby shields might have a use other than keeping a Legilimens out. But to serve her in such a way, her shield needed to be incredibly strong – strong enough to absorb a great amount of power without collapsing under the pressure. Inspiration hit her when staring at her cauldron during her potions class, and she finally came up with an idea.

Hermione was eager to put her new shield to the test when she entered her professor's office that evening. He didn't seem so share her thrill of anticipation, but judging from his expression he was still determined to pull through with it.

"Remember," he told her in his lecturing voice, "the purpose of Occlumency is to protect your mind against Legilimency. You have become fairly good at spotting my intrusions when we use the Prying Potion. The next step will be for you to try and prevent me from actually seeing a memory."

He was sitting opposite from her with the desk between them, and obviously intended to stay there. Hermione moved forward on her own chair so she could put her elbows on the table and support her chin with her hands when looking at him. "I know," she replied and smiled. "This time, however, you'll have to get in first."

He quirked an eyebrow. "My, my, aren't we full of ourselves tonight..."

"I believe I've found a good shield."

"Did you now? If that's indeed the case – do you also realise that I shall have to try all the harder to conquer it?" The tone of his voice was doubtlessly meant to convey a threat and a warning, but there was also a considerable amount of reluctance in it.

"Yes," Hermione replied firmly and held his gaze. "Please don't hold back. I want to know – I _need_ to know that my barriers will hold." She could see that he was wondering about her motives and failing to understand why this was so important to her. Voldemort was gone, and she had managed to withstand Bellatrix with her ice wall well enough.

But Hermione wanted the comfort of knowing that her shield would serve her as a means of escape in the way the books suggested. It was simple but effective: If the magic and the intent poured into the shield were strong and steady enough to withstand a great amount of pressure, the Occlumens could – if worst came to worse – collapse his walls onto himself and efficiently bury himself and his secrets beneath them. It was mentally committed suicide, and it resulted in the physical death of the Occlumens.

It was a rather drastic last resort, but while Hermione knew that she was able to withstand a lesser Legilimens' attack on her mind, she wasn't sure if she could withstand torture again. Just thinking about finding herself in such a helpless situation again made her break out in a cold sweat. Knowing that her fate lay in her own hands if it ever came to that would give her power. If she ever endured such horror again, it would be because she chose to do so, not because she had to.

Severus gave her a thoughtful look. Did he suspect something? Surely he must have had is own exist strategy all those times he went back to face and betray the greatest known Legilimens of all times...

"I know that it will hurt," she said when he still seemed doubtful, and looked at him with calm determination. "I'm prepared for that. But I need to know."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she was sure that he understood after all. He leaned forward a little, too, locked his gaze with hers and raised his wand. "Very well, then.." His hand was steady when he pointed it at her, and his voice calm. "Legilimens!"

Hermione could tell he was impressed when he found himself standing in front of the result of her brainstorming: A wall of steel – seamless, smooth, unyielding. She could also feel his hesitance when examining it closer, prodding it and trying to find a weakness. They were none, she was sure of it. This shield was strong and powerful. It left him no other option but to try and break it with force. Hermione braced herself for his attack.

His first blast came surprisingly quick and was fierce. He was probably hoping to take her by storm. But Hermione let the force of his magic wash over her and tried to absorb as much of it as she could. There was a dull droning sound in her head when the echoes resonated through her mind. After his initial attack, he rained a series of blows against her wall, gradually augmenting intensity and frequency. He obviously was still expecting her to cave in. Hermione countered by augmenting the power she poured into her shield, holding it steady.

Severus increased his efforts, pushing harder and exerting more constant pressure. But although the brunt of his assault made her wince, she felt a rush of pride when he still didn't get in. She was starting to sweat with the exertion, though, and the strain on her shield was becoming slightly painful. Hermione realised that although she was forcing him to waste his energy, upholding these walls exhausted her, too. She'd have the mother of headaches if they continued like this.

His next blow felt like battering ram was propelled against her steel wall. Everything within her was shaking from the momentum of the impact, but her wall held. Yes! She had finally found a protection that withstood mental attacks. It all came down now to who would tire or give up first – unless he resorted to other measures, which, of course Severus wouldn't do. Proving her that everybody's mind could be broken eventually was not the point of this exercise. Neither was keeping him out until she fell unconscious. To successfully occlude, she had to learn how to deceive, to hinder and lead astray once he was inside. Hermione knew now that her new walls were efficient – or at least as efficient as they could be. He might crack them eventually if he kept this up with unabated force, but breaking into her mind like this would doubtlessly hurt badly, and she'd rather not experience first hand why they called it mind rape, when having him inside her mind had felt so good before. Time to stop fighting. She would simply let him in.

As soon as the idea was born, she felt her walls change.

When Severus thrust against them this time, he gasped with shock. He didn't meet any resistance, which meant that his shove had been much too forceful. He could see and feel her cringe with pain when instead of battering cold steel, he found himself pushing hard against walls that now felt warm and alive. For a moment, they tensed against his violent intrusion, but when he instantly stopped and took off the pressure, he felt them yield and soften, almost as if they were welcoming him.

It must have been the way they had talked about Legilimency before... the realisation that the intrusion in someone's mind, if performed without consent, was uncomfortable at best, painful and traumatising at worst. The analogy was blatant – of course it had evoked images that were sexual in nature. It explained why the moment she had decided to open her mind to him, her shields had turned into flesh.

It still sent his mind spinning. If he had been able to dwell on the fact that he was literally mind-fucking her right now, he would have withdrawn immediately. But he was too caught up in the overwhelming feeling to form a coherent thought. He had never been welcomed to anybody's mind before; he hadn't known that it could feel like this... warm and inviting, and too closely resembling a physical union for his comfort. To his mortification, he felt his body react. He desperately tried to get a grip, reminding himself that she was his student – becoming aroused while teaching her Occlumency was totally unacceptable; he mustn't think about her like this!

But all too obviously, she had thought about him in such way. The thoughts and feelings that were on the forefront of her mind – probably called forward by his mental association and his arousal – hit him like a wave. Horrified, he slammed down his own shields before the fleeting glimpses and vague impressions could form into solid pictures. Just barely, he managed to clear his mind again. He had promised her not to go there, and he intended to keep his word.

Faced with two entwined threads of thought and emotion - himself and her intimate fantasies - he had no choice but to quickly reach for the one he had also painstakingly avoided all the other times he'd delved into her mind: Her musings of his own person. Right now, everything seemed better than being pulled into the dangerous abyss of her passions - even looking into a mirror and seeing himself as he appeared in the eyes of his students.

Fortunately, the scene that now unfolded before his eyes was innocent and harmless, and Severus let out a sigh of relief. He found himself in the back of his classroom where the rather formidable Potions Professor of Hermione's earliest memory was giving lecture. The students were sitting with their backs to him, not taking notice of his invisible twin that was witnessing the scene. All but one. A bushy haired head turned around and he looked into the face of an eleven year old Hermione. She smiled at him.

Severus was impressed. That she was able to acknowledge his presence within the memory was a mile stone. She was really starting to gain control of the on-goings in her mind.

She turned around again to listen to what his memory-self was saying, and Severus moved to the front of the class to be able to see her better.. _'I don't expect that many of you shall appreciate the subtle science that is Potion Making...'_ he heard himself intone slowly and deliberately, punctuating his speech with pregnant pauses. ' _However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to ensnare the mind and bewitch the senses, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death...'_

It was the memory of her first Potion lesson. Severus hadn't paid any attention to her back then, as his entire focus had been on Potter. Now, he watched in fascination as she was hanging on every word of his little introductory speech. She was enraptured. And instead of realising that here was a girl with incredible potential in his class, he had dressed her down. Not totally undeserved – her over-enthusiasm had been irritating and off-putting, especially since she found all the wrong ways to express it: the extra long essays regurgitating fact from the numerous books she had devoured, the finger she so persistently waved in the air and the incessant meddling with his teaching methods. Despite his many rebukes, she had continuously instructed and corrected Longbottom in his class, as if it was her job, not his, to supervise his work.

But regardless of the antagonism he had demonstrated towards her – for her behaviour, for being a Gryffindor and Potter's friend, and for no other reason than the fact that he was snarky, mean and disagreeable – she had only seen in him a strict, unfriendly, but incredibly knowledgeable teacher. Yes, she had often been furious with him, mostly for his treatment of Longbottom, who seemed to view him as incarnation of the devil himself. Not even she had realised that Longbottom was the real menace. Trying to get him through his OWLS with all his limbs still attached had been a challenge that had often made him break out in sweat. He had given early warning that the boy shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a cauldron, but nobody had cared for his assessment.

He watched with bemusement how Hermione's perception of him had changed over the years. The growing suspicion that he might not be what he pretended to be made her pay attention to him in a way she hadn't before. The respect she had always had for his intellect had turned into respect for his character as she became more convinced that he was a decent man who was playing everybody for a fool. She had felt sadness on his behalf, even concern for his well-being, and a deep gratitude for what she suspected him of doing. It all had come tumbling down the night he killed Dumbledore.

Shock, disbelief and confusion had quickly turned into anger, mostly directed at herself for having been so stupid as to trust him. It was followed by a feeling of disappointment so profound that the sheer weight was making it hard to press forward. It had taken her a few days to digest what had happened, to gather additional information and to try and make sense of everything, especially the inconsistencies in his behaviour. She wasn't particularly successful – the confusion remained, but it was joined by the firm conviction that there must be another explanation apart from the obvious; that she hadn't been mistaken in her judgement of his character. Just like she had told him a couple of months ago – she hadn't lost her faith in him. While everyone else had feared him, she had only _feared for_ him.

The insecurity and anxiousness that saturated so many places within her mind was nowhere connected to him. Whatever memory of himself he looked into: The only thing she had ever feared was his disapproval. What had made her behave like the insufferable know-it-all in his class all those past years had been her deep need to be acknowledged, especially by him. She had wanted his respect, his approval – she had wanted him to like her. Why, he wondered, confused at the revelation. Why had she cared so much what the greasy git, the bat of the dungeons thought of her?

But even the unfriendly monikers didn't seem to exist in her mind – only in memories when she had berated her friends for using them. Intrigued, he searched for a thread of thought connecting thoughts of himself with feelings of disrespect, as he could hardly believe that there were none. And finally, he made a find - a single one. He could feel a stir of resistance from her. She obviously didn't wish him to go where this trail would take him, which made him continue on with even more determination. Unfortunately for her, she still didn't have a clue how to throw him off course, and so he found himself walking down to the Quidditch Pitch unhindered. The path did seem a bit more stony and narrow than in reality, and there weren't any thistles growing on it in real life, either. Yet those attempts to stop him from reaching his goal compared to a child weakly pulling on the sleeves of his robe, and so he came across the memory she had hoped he wouldn't find: The memory of herself setting his robe on fire during a Quidditch match in her first year.

Oh, the nerve of her! She had suspected him of hexing Harry's broom, while he was in fact doing the exact opposite. Afterwards, after she had found out that he had tried to protect the Philosopher's Stone, not steal it, she had felt terribly guilty for her mistrust and her resulting action. It had been a turning point for her assessment of him. Finding out that all of their suspicions had been wrong and that he'd been protecting Harry all along had formed the basis of trust in him that had only grown stronger over the years.

Not wishing to follow her thoughts in the direction of 'growing feelings' and 'trust', he picked up on the strand of guilt instead, which led to another memory she was now frantically trying to block: That of Hermione Granger, model student and stickler for rules, stealing from his private store room! It hadn't been as heavily guarded then as it was now, given that he had never thought a student would have the audacity to steal from him. He had always suspected that Potter was the thief, even if Hermione, without doubt, had done the brewing.

It was easy track her guilty conscience to Myrte's washroom, where she was leaning over a steaming cauldron that she was trying hard to shield from his view. To tell the truth, he was amused. Her brewing skills had thoroughly impressed him at the time, even if she had managed to turn herself into a half-cat by adding the wrong kind of hair to an otherwise perfect brew.

He hoped to catch a glimpse of her in cat-form in her memory, as he had only heard about her misfortune, but hadn't had a chance to see her at the time. But when he tried to peek into the toilet stall where she was hiding after taking the potion, she slammed the door into his face. He almost chuckled. She was really getting better at this. He didn't push back, although he probably would have succeeded.

He didn't mean to pry into her embarrassing moments, but the feeling of shame was so thick here that he had no trouble picking up on it again. Besides, he strongly suspected that the other strong strand of emotion still within easy reach which combined thoughts of him with feelings of guilt, might lead them to the Shrieking Shack – either to her attack of him in her third year, or to his almost demise during the final battle. He didn't wish to relive either event.

The memory that now came into focus was sharp and stinging in her mind, although his own memory of the incident was half-forgotten. She made no effort to deter him this time from watching the scene play out. It had been in her fourth year – an enlarging hex that had not even been aimed at her had made her front teeth grow until they had reached her collar. The cruel and careless remark he had made about it – 'I see no difference!' – had hurt her deeply. The intensity of her pain, her shame and her disappointment struck him like a knife.

Severus couldn't understand. A comment like that – coming from him of all people, with his own crooked teeth – why had she taken it so much to heart? Even if her front teeth had been a little big for her small face at that age... Who was he to talk about anybody else's slight imperfections? It was ridiculous. She should have found his insult outrageous, presumptuous, laughable – she should have resented him for being such an ass. That had been his intention, after all. He was known for his nastiness, for favouring Slytherins in each and every situation, and for and being a cruel and sadistic bastard towards everyone else. Especially towards Gryffindors, and most explicitly to friends of Harry Potter. He had played a role, and he had always figured that by exaggerating it, by taking it to the point of caricature, it would lessen the impact of his insults, his unfairness and his venom. No one could take any of it personally or think that the way they were being treated by him had anything to do with who they were.

But she had taken it personally, very much so. Again, he felt the full weight of her disappointment. After all, you can only be disappointed if you still have expectations from someone. And she, despite all indications to the contrary, had still believed that he was basically a decent person and had expected him to act like accordingly. Had she merely trusted that he would behave in a responsible manner because his position as a teacher and authority figure demanded it? Or had her trust in him, for inexplicable reasons, been so fundamental even back then?

She had cried bitter tears about his mean comment. Witnessing it now made him feel a constricting pressure in his own chest. He wished he could take it back. He had never felt such an urge to apologise since he had called Lily a Mudblood. This transgression was worse.

And still, despite what she perceived as let-down, a betrayal of fundamental moral values, she hadn't even given a fleeting thought to his own imperfections. The image he saw reflected in his mirror every day was not what he saw in her memories, especially not in the more recent ones. His unremarkable dark eyes were pools of blackness with endless depth in her perception. His lank hair was raven coloured and silky, and his rather big nose was proud and aquiline. He seemed almost handsome in her eyes. The dissonance was disconcerting.

But it wasn't his physical attributes she placed much focus on. Like she had once confessed to him, it was his overall appearance that attracted her: his way of walking, which she found impressive; his voice, which in her ears was a mixture of sexy and soothing; the movements of his hands, which she considered graceful – she was even impressed with his table manners! His glowering and menacing scowl which generally sent people running did not scare her, but rather intrigued her – she enjoyed watching his face, trying to decipher what he was thinking just by the movement of his eyebrows.

Much to his surprise, she even liked his rather stiff and formal attire, which she found enticing and elegant and fitting of his personality. She seemed to have a particular fascination for the many buttons on his frock coat and had pondered on more than one occasion if he really opened and fastened them by hand every day. She couldn't decide whether his distinctive, buttoned-up look was intended to make him seem untouchable or if it was a physical manifestation of his need to keep himself contained.

And, oh, how much she longed to unbutton him... She wondered what he wore beneath his frock coat and how many layers of cloth one had to undo before reaching his skin... She contemplated whether his chest was smooth or covered with dark hair, and if it would be soft to the touch. She imagined how it would feel to be touched by him in return, to have his graceful fingers handle her with the same care and expertise he applied when preparing the delicate skin of Moonflower bulbs for his potions. She thought about his how his lips – so often curled in a disdain – transformed when he smiled, how warm and soft and firm they felt when they kissed, and how wonderful they would feel on other places of her body...

Sweet Merlin! Severus gasped in shock. The inexplicable feelings of attraction he had been tracking through her mind had, at some point and without him noticing, become interwoven with lust, and now he had unintentionally pulled forward her fantasies – the very thing he had wanted to avoid touching at all cost! It was as if he had pulled the stopper from a water basin filled to the bursting point. Once it started rushing out, there was no stopping the flood.

The images that assaulted him were sharp and detailed, proving that she must have looked at them frequently. They were also not at all what he had expected. Like a drowning man in troubled sea he frantically looked around for anything to cling to, a different emotion he could grab that would pull him out of this. But there was nothing even remotely innocent in the swirling flashes of pictures and emotions that were pulling him deeper under. Guilt, desire, shame, fear, longing, lust... no matter what feeling he latched on to, it spun him right back here, entrapping him in this whirlpool of emotions she had up kept carefully at bay for so long.

Worse, he felt himself affected by the power of sensations that came with them; his own emotions started running havoc, feeding hers in return. The brief arousal he had felt on entering her mind came back full force as he watched in a sort of horrid fascination her fantasies play out, feeling her reaction to them and to his actual presence in her mind. For a moment, it was as if no barrier between his mind and hers existed.

He could feel her panic, too, and was beyond grateful when she somehow managed to hastily throw up those canvas sheets in front of him. They were paper-thin, flimsy and see-through, but allowed him slam down his own shields and cut off the emotions that had leaked from him into her mind. Finally, with his walls tightly in place, he managed to regain enough control to pull himself out of this emotional vortex and escape from her mind.

Flustered and breathing heavily they both found themselves back in his office, staring at each other with eyes wide open and full of shock and other, unnamed emotions. At least, her eyes looked like that, and he could only suspect from his rapidly beating heart, the warmth he felt everywhere and from his own, unwelcome physical reaction that he had lost control over his features as well.

With a stricken expression on her blushed face, Hermione gave a barely suppressed sound of distress, jumped up form her chair and fled from his office.


	17. Severus

Summary of Chapter 16 – In the Flesh

Severus agrees to pick up the Occlumency lessons again, and Hermione tries to find a shield that will not only hold up against a strong Legilimens, but will also allow her to use it as a weapon against herself if she should ever find herself threatened with torture again. Although Severus tries hard to conquer it this time, her walls holds. When Hermione voluntarily lowers them to let him in, Severus comes close to touching her fantasies, but manages to follow her musings of his own person instead. Fascinated, bemused and captivated by what he finds, he realises too late that he is crossing into forbidden territory once again, and this time, he loses control and gets entrapped in her most private thoughts and feelings. Both of them are deeply shocked by what happens, and when Severus finally manages to break free, Hermione, deeply embarrassed, flees from his office.

 _A/N: Edited after being published. If you feel like pointing out mistakes, I'll gladly correct them. :)_

* * *

 **Severus**

After Hermione had left his office, Severus locked himself into his quarters and downed a vial of calming draught, and, for good measure, a glass of firewhisky right after it. He usually didn't imbibe – at least never to the point of threatening his composure – but right now, he needed every bit of help he could get to soothe his turmoil.

Even with the tranquillisers, however, it took him a long while to compose himself. Doubtlessly, Hermione was feeling horribly embarrassed and ashamed right now, for having had her most intimate thoughts laid bare in such a manner, but his own feelings were a lot more complicated.

He cursed his own negligence which had caused this inexcusable transgression. He had promised her not to search her mind for anything private or compromising, but had found her most hidden secrets nevertheless. The disconcerting, unfamiliar yielding of her mind had made him careless.

Usually, a Legilimens had to keep up a constant pressure on the mind that he was invading. It was like swimming against a current and required similar effort. Hermione, however, hadn't offered that kind of unconscious resistance. On the contrary: Once her barrier had – in a most shocking way – subsided, Severus had been sucked right into it. Discounting her two half-hearted attempts to interfere with what he was doing, she had presented all her memories and her corresponding thoughts and emotions on a silver platter.

Now he felt like he had taken advantage, violated her, even if it hadn't been his intention. He was shaken, feeling guilty and ashamed. Not only because he had failed to stop the flood of images, but also because they had shown exactly that: him, taking advantage, making her submit to his will. What he had seen in her mind had thrown him into utter turmoil.

While his conscience rebelled against his traitorous body's response, all the insecurities buried deeply within his soul rose with a vengeance, questioning everything he had come to believe about her and about himself. His fears, his doubts and his reservations were mocking the naive hope he had nurtured somewhere deep inside of him that his negative perception about relationships might be wrong, that things could be different, that neither love nor intimacy had to be as his experience had taught him.

He admittedly didn't know much about relationships at all, given that he had never been in one. His only experience came from observing and analysing others, starting with the sick and twisted relationship between his parents. Severus figured that they must have loved each other – at least his mother had cared for his father and had always tried to please him, even though he was an uncouth, overbearing, later in life even violent man. She always found excuses for his behaviour, and his apologies and assurances that he loved her and would treat her better in future were always enough to make her forgive him.

He had seen a similar pattern with Lily and James. True, James was much more refined than his father and hadn't been physically abusive – at least not towards her. But he'd been just as bossy and domineering, and Severus knew that he could be just as mean. Once, when Lily had tried to make James back off from his preferred victim – namely Severus himself – he had threatened her with a hex. He hadn't shied away from attempting emotional blackmail to get her to go out with him, either. Severus also knew that James had also lied to her and gone behind her back for at least an entire school-year. Somehow, none of it had seemed to faze Lily. Quite the contrary: Severus had always suspected that Lily had been secretly impressed with James for being masterful and dominant. How else could she have fallen for a man who was so cocksure of himself, a show-off and a bully?

At the time, it had him led to believe that women admired strength and distinctive dominance in a man. None of which he had possessed, back then. He had been rather insecure, socially unskilled and clumsy, unable to show emotion and express his feelings. Lily had been his first and only friend, and he had felt such deep gratitude for her kindness and acceptance that he had put her on a pedestal. And he'd always been indulgent with her, fearing that standing up to her might cost him her affection. At some point he had started wondering if it had been all wrong – if his compliance was read as a weakness, if she thought he was basically a doormat. Wanting Lily to see him as commanding and imposing – just like James and Sirius – had been one of the reasons why he had dabbled into the Dark Arts and kept company with those who later became Death Eaters.

A lot of what he had witnessed in his new circle of friends had served to confirm his suspicion that women preferred men who were basically bullies. Lucius, from what he knew, had never raised his hand against Narcissa, but it had been clear who held the power in their relationship. And Narcissa had never questioned that, but behaved like it was expected of a dutiful wife in a pureblood family. Bellatrix was madly in love with a wizard who was the incarnation of evil and was happy to be treated like the willing servant the Dark Lord saw in her.

Joining the Death Eaters had served his aim to gain respect better than expected. His success in the field of potions had given him confidence in his abilities and secured him a high standing in the circle of the Dark Lord's followers. And by finding his self-confidence, he also found his theory about what women wanted in a man confirmed: All of a sudden, women had become interested in him. The fact that he was sarcastic, snarky and rather forbidding only seemed to encourage them. The more hostile or abrasive he was, the more enticing he became in their eyes, and the greater was the challenge he presented. Ultimately, it had led him into the kind of relationships he later came to abhor.

He no longer had an issue with being authoritative. He had really polished this trait when he became a teacher. Appearing intimidating and threatening now came easy to him, it had become second nature. But no matter how domineering he was and how much he relished in having power and control - he had always despised physical violence. His childhood had made sure of that. In his opinion, violence was the last resort of someone who was at the end of his wits, it was a concession of defeat. Inflicting pain or seeing others torture their victims and derive sadistic pleasures from it like Bellatrix and her husband had – it had sickened him. It was one of the things that had driven him away from the Dark Lord.

But even though he had never abused or hurt any of the women he had bedded, his deeply-ingrained dominance was one of the reasons why his sexual relations had always seemed tainted to him. It didn't matter that everything he did had been asked for and that his one-night companions clearly enjoyed playing power games with him. Despite the fact that he enjoyed them to a point as well, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was wrong, and he couldn't imagine that Lily, as much as she had been impressed with James' bravado, his audacity, his disregard for other people's opinions or feelings, would have put up with that kind of bedroom behaviour.

It had taken him years to figure out that what he had observed in teenage Lily, in his mother and in the women he had had brief affairs with was not typical for all women. Most of them did appreciate men who showed kindness, gentleness and respect. The problem was that he didn't know how to be that man, either. Kind and strong, intimidating and gentle, authoritative and yet respectful. It seemed like an antagonism. Besides, he had become far too comfortable in his voluntary seclusion. He still didn't know how to express emotions, and he felt it was wiser to hide them, anyway. They were only weaknesses to be exploited.

Ever since Lily, he had managed perfectly well keeping people at arm's length. Until Hermione had appeared – or rather had forced herself – onto his radar. And after all he had learned, she saw in him exactly the kind of man he thought he could never be. She found comfort and felt safe in his presence. She respected him and shared is particular sense of humour. She believed him to be a good man, to be trustworthy, honourable.

It had been flabbergasting, to say the least. He had liked this image, even if it didn't correlate with his self-perception. But it had also scared him. He had felt tainted compared to her, with her innocence and her purity of heart. How could she not shy away from him in the long run? Eventually, he had feared, she'd see this other side of him, too.

After what he had witnessed in her mind today, he knew she had already seen it, and had even drawn the right conclusions. When she had confessed to him so long ago that her attraction to him was in part due to his rather intimidating, commanding and clearly dominating Death Eater persona, he hadn't really taken it seriously – after all, it was a kind of cliché. But now that he had found confirmed in her fantasies that she was dead serious about it, he didn't know what to think anymore.

Was it possible that he had been mistaken about her? What he had seen made him wonder if Hermione, like Lily or his mother, secretly felt attracted to men that were like James, Lucius or even his father. Men who believed themselves to be law to themselves, who always did as they pleased and never gave a damn about the consequences.

He wasn't that different from them. He certainly couldn't pride himself on never doing anything that was morally questionable. Nor could he claim to always act in a mindful way with regard to other people's feelings, so as not to be the cause of hurt. If he was honest with himself, he'd often showed the same kind of behaviour as James and Sirius, who he had always hated for it when he was on the receiving end. While he had been insecure and awkward back then, he must now appear to Hermione just like those two had appeared to Lily: Confident, proud, masterful, unyielding. A man who asserted his authority and didn't accept 'no' for an answer. A man who took liberties with little or no regard for the will or the feeling of others. And just like Lily, Hermione seemed disposed to excuse and explain away abrasive and assertive behaviour and humiliating treatment – as proven by her attraction to him.

He couldn't blame her for what she had made him be in her fantasies. She had just unconsciously picked up on the not so subtle signals he gave and had rightfully incorporated them into her picture of him. She really had him pegged.

He closed his eyes and used his Occlumency to shove it all to the back of his mind again – the things he had seen and his own reaction to them, his confusion. He'd have to ponder it later, when he was less agitated and able to re-watch everything with more detachment. Sighing, he buried his face in his hands. What now? He hated the idea of her feeling miserable and horribly embarrassed for having had her innermost secrets laid bare. Doubtlessly, she was also hurt by what she must perceive as betrayal. Part of him wanted to talk to her, to apologise and reassure her somehow. But right now, he couldn't face her. He'd have to sort out his own mind first. But he couldn't let things remain like this, either. Gathering his courage, he took a piece of parchment and decided to write her a note. The least she deserved was an acknowledgement of his guilt and an expression of regret.

Staring at the parchment helplessly for a while, he searched for words, but his mind was numb. He knew how to dress people down with his tongue, how make them shiver and how to provoke them. He knew how to taunt, how to ridicule and how to punish. But had no idea how to express his feelings and properly apologize. He didn't have much experience with any of it. Hoping that being honest and straightforward would be the best course to sail, he picked up his quill and began to write:

 _Hermione,_  
 _I sincerely apologise for trespassing where I shouldn't have. Please believe me that it was in no way intentional. You trusted me with your mind, and I failed you, which is inexcusable. For this indiscretion, I dare not even hope for your forgiveness. The embarrassment I suspect you feel right now is nothing compared to my own shame and guilt. Please just know how deeply sorry I am, and that you have nothing to feel ashamed about._

He signed the letter with his initials, faced once again the sheer impossibility of their situation. He'd seen her fantasies, he'd starred in them and reached a level of intimacy with her that was unprecedented. And yet he hardly even dared to sign a note to her with his first name, because it felt inappropriate? This would be so much easier without the restrictions that were placed on their interactions by moral considerations and conventions. He didn't even know how to label the relationship that he now wanted to save and repair. Whenever had his life gotten so confusing again?

He called a house-elf and instructed him to deliver the letter to Miss Granger's room. It'd be less conspicuous than sending a school owl. Then, with another deep sigh, he took out his Pensieve, extracted his memories of the last hour and followed them into the silvery basin.

He emerged about an hour later with the bedazzling feeling of having had another epiphany. He finally understood. No, he hadn't been wrong about Hermione, but he had been wrong about basically everything else.

Leaning back in his chair and staring into the fire, he tried to settle and sort his excited and still giddy thoughts that were running all over the place after their roller-coaster ride. After he had involuntarily seen her fantasies not two hours ago, he had feared that Hermione, contrary to what she had made herself believe – might feel drawn to his darker side after all. It had left him wondering if the young, inexperienced witch, just like Lily or his mother, was ignorant of the warning signs he doubtlessly gave in plenty, or if she, like most other women who had ever sought his attention, was looking for the thrill and excitement that playing with danger entailed. But after reviewing the memories, he realised that in fact the opposite was true.

Hermione was nothing like the women he had been with. She wasn't even like Lily. Hermione, despite the ruthlessness she could demonstrate if she thought it was needed, was empathetic, kind and gentle-hearted. She, who fought for equal rights for all species and was even gracious to people who he felt didn't deserve it, would never accept bullying in any form, not from anyone, and she certainly wouldn't ever allow anybody to force his will on her.

It was not so surprising that she felt drawn to him at all in the light of his new understanding of Hermione Granger. At least to him, it was all crystal clear now. They had a lot to talk about.

Hermione did not come to his lab the following day. She didn't come to Defence against the Dark Arts the day after that either. Severus, who was filling in for Lupin again, strongly suspected she had been forewarned and had intentionally stayed away. He knew she wasn't sick, as he had seen her at lunch in the Great Hall before, where she had avoided his gaze throughout the entire meal. Usually, he considered skipping classes inexcusable, but in this case, he was glad that he didn't have to face her in a classroom environment just now. He really wouldn't have known how to act and feared that attempts at being his usual, spiteful self would either have been unconvincing, or worse, interpreted as rejection.

But he couldn't deny that he was beginning to feel concerned. Scratch that – who was he kidding? In the figurative sense, he was short of biting his nails. Had she accepted his apology? Or had he destroyed any chance he might have had with her with his slip of control? Was she still so embarrassed that she couldn't bear looking him in the eye? How much had he added to all the other issues she had to deal with?

He was desperate to talk to her, especially after having had his epiphany, but he didn't want to force her into it either. Grimacing, he remembered the nights he spent in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady so many years ago, asking anybody who passed through the portrait hole into Gryffindor tower to pass on yet another desperate message to Lily, begging her to come and talk to him. He felt dread at the thought of facing a similar situation again. No, he certainly was not going to hold vigil in front of her room. But he needed to let her know just how much he had been mistaken, and how much she had been mistaken about herself...

Feeling a new kind of resolution, he decided to send his Patronus to her room and instruct it to stay there until it had delivered his message. It was quite possible that Miss Lovegood would be privy to the reception, but at this point, he didn't care. Obviously, Miss Lovegood had seen what was going on with amazing clarity long before he himself had. And oddly enough, he trusted her to respect his and Hermione's privacy. He seemed to be getting uncharacteristically trusting with quite a lot of people, he realised with bemusement.

He reached for his wand and cast the spell, habitually focussing his thoughts on what had always been his happiest memory. Bluish mist erupted from his wand, but instead of immediately taking the form of his doe, it hovered aimlessly, stretching and shifting this way and that, as if not sure what it was supposed to be.

Horrified, Severus broke the spell, staring at the dissipating mist in shock. What had happened to his Patronus? It almost looked as if... Merlin – had it changed its form? He felt a lump in his throat, constricting his breath. What was Hermione's Patronus? An otter? Oh, Merlin, please – let it not be an otter now! Why must his affection always become so obvious, laying his innermost soul bare for everyone to see? It was pathetic! He always avoided the Patronus charm for exactly that reason, had even wondered more than once if having all happiness sucked out of him wasn't preferable to the embarrassment of conjuring a doe – or a cute little otter! – it in front of witnesses.

His heart pounded in his chest as yet another realization hit. A Patronus usually only changed form if a life-changing event had affected a wizard's core – if something had fundamentally changed his state of mind. Like Nyphadora Tonks, whose Patronus had changed to reflect that of Remus Lupin, whom she had fallen in love with.

He feared his Patronus had changed to an otter. Which – without a shadow of doubt – could only mean one thing: He was in love with Hermione Granger.

Severus fell into his chair and struggled for breath. Sweet Merlin! He didn't know whether to feel elated, shocked or resigned. Up to this point, he hadn't even admitted it to himself. Of course, he cared for her. Yes, she had gotten under his skin, and yes, he felt physically attracted to her. But obviously, the his feelings went much deeper than that. There was no denying it any longer. Dear God... He was in love. He loved Hermione Granger.

His panic lessened a bit when her face appeared in his mind, with her warm eyes and her easy smile. He loosened his cravat so he could breathe more easily. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing... At least this time chances were that his feelings were reciprocated, even if the world at large would not react kindly. But why should he care what all those dunderheads thought about him, when the brightest young witch he had ever known looked at him with fondness in her eyes? Surely an otter Patronus was a small price to pay for a chance at happiness. He might as well face the facts and look his Patronus in the eye.

This time, when he breathed the incantation, all his thoughts were on Hermione and the elation she made him feel – to the point that his head was spinning and his heart beating staccato in his breast. And this time, the silver-bluish mist that burst from his wand was brighter than ever and immediately took form. Severus looked dumbfounded as it circled his chambers. It wasn't an otter. And it certainly wasn't cute or shy.

The animal landed before him on the arm of his chair in a proud, regal pose, fixing his intelligent gaze on him, and Severus would have wept with utterly unfamiliar joy. He was in love! And his new Patronus was a fierce and mighty eagle!

Instinctively, he knew that this was what his Patronus was always supposed to be, the form it would have taken the first time he ever conjured it if he hadn't been such a love-sick fool at the time. It was the shape it would have taken on after Lily's death if he hadn't been bound by guilt, loyalty and his promise to her. This was its true from, the animal he had an affinity with – not a representation of love or devotion, but a manifestation of his inner self.

He sat in silent awe until long after his Patronus had dissipated, sorting out his overflowing emotions. He hadn't used the Patronus charm for a long time, so there was no telling what had brought about the change – if it was recent and related to Hermione, or if it had changed even before, right after the war, when he had realised for the first time that his servitude was over and he was finally free.

In the end, it didn't matter. Not only did he feel liberated in every sense of the word, not only was he undeniably in love, but he had also finally understood something essential about himself. He was overcome with sudden calm and ease at the realization that he had taken an important step in finding peace with himself.

There was no need to push her – Hermione would come to him when she was ready to face not only him, but also her own issues. She was strong and courageous, and she wouldn't turn her back on him forever, even if he had overstepped boundaries and hurt her in the process. She wasn't Lily. He had utmost faith in her.

* * *

 _I have no idea how you feel about this chapter, but it's one of my favourites in this story. This is what I wanted Severus Snape to experience after the war – to finally find himself, a prospect of happiness and inner peace. Too bad Ms. Rowlings didn't grant him that._

 _As to Severus' theory about Lily liking the bullies... I read a lot of interesting essays (see example below) about Snape, James, Lily and the Marauders, in which a lot of small scenes were discussed and analysed that finally made me suspect one thing: That JKR is a bit like the women Snape describes, who like men who are rather full of themselves and dominant._

 _Throughout the books, she wants us to like the supposedly cool kids: those who disobey rules, are arrogant and do as they please, no matter if it's morally questionable or if it incurs the risk of severe trauma or serious injury. She makes these incidents seem like jokes, pranks and harmless shenanigans, because more often than not, she makes us empathise with the pranksters, not with their victims._

 _I (just like Severus) see Hermione's attraction to Severus' 'dark side' in a totally different light, as the next chapter will hopefully clarify..._

 _If you want to check out one of the essays, here's a link:_

 _~cj_whitehound/Fanfic/good_or_bad_ #contents_

 _If it gives you trouble (or doesn't show at all) search for 'But Snape is just nasty, right?' and 'madasafish' 'post-DH'._

 _Or check this site, I believe it's the same essay, though the order of paragraphs seems to differ:_  
 _art/Snape-is-just-nasty-right-1-164459138_


	18. Hermione

Summary of Chapter 17 – Severus

Severus, full of self-recrimination, writes a letter of apology and sends it to Hermione. He feels that he has broken her trust, while at the same time, he is deeply unsettled by what he has seen in her mind. To sort out his feelings and try to understand, he reviews the memories of it in a Pensieve and has an epiphany. Meaning to tell Hermione what he has come to understand, he wants to send her a Patronus message, but on summoning his doe, he's utterly shaken when it refuses to take form. Fearing that his Patronus has changed into an otter to mirror Hermione's, he's struck by the realisation that he loves her.

Elated about this (and resigned to having another unmanly Patronus) he casts the charm again, and an eagle bursts from his wand. Beyond happy and finally totally at peace with himself, with her and with their situation, he decides not to send her a message at all – secure in the knowledge that she'll speak to him when she's ready.

A/N: An extra long chapter this time... the first of the ones supposed to be the last. ;) I guess you won't mind getting a few more...

* * *

 **Hermione**

After two sleepless nights of tossing and turning in her bed and two insufferable days of embarrassment and avoidance, Hermione finally summoned the courage to seek Severus out in his office. Her knocking on the door was a bit hesitant, his invitation to enter rather brusque, as usual.

For a moment, she felt as if she had stepped back in time – to the evening so long ago when she had stood in his office just like this: nervous about the delicate matter that needed to be discussed, but determined to follow through with it. But it was there that the similarities ended.

The moment she entered, Severus' face lost the annoyed frown he usually wore whenever his concentration was interrupted. "Hermione...", he said softly, and the look he gave her was... she couldn't really say, as she hadn't seen this expression on his face ever before. It was composed, calm, almost serene. She wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course." He immediately put the stack of students' essays aside and transfigured her chair. A bit stiffly she sat down, her head hanging low. It was obvious that she felt uncomfortable. Just as he had expected, she launched right into an apology, but he instantly halted her attempt. "Don't! You don't have anything to apologise for. It is I who has to ask for forgiveness."

Briefly, she lifted her gaze to look at him. "But you already did," she pointed out, before lowering her eyes again. "It's why I came. I didn't want you to believe that I blame you in any way for what happened. I know you didn't mean to pry. I could feel how shocked you were and how you tried to disentangle yourself from my mind. I understand you're appalled..." She raised her palms to her face in a gesture of embarrassment. "Oh God, I don't even know what to say to you and how to look you in the eye. I've never felt so ashamed in my life."

"Hermione – please, stop!" he implored, wanting to reach across the desk and lower her hands himself. "I wasn't appalled – don't you even dare even think that! I was just surprised, bewildered. I would never have guessed... although I should have, really. But I was trying so hard to maintain a professional distance and keep pretending all this while that I just didn't consider..." He broke off again, struggling to find the right words for all he wanted to say. He simply didn't know where to start. "Of course you'd have those thoughts, and if I hadn't used Occlumency so much to block out what I didn't want to ponder, I wouldn't have been so surprised to find myself in them."

She put her hands in her lap again, but still avoided his gaze. "Don't pretend that's all you were shocked about."

"You think I'm shocked about the role I played in your fantasies, don't you?" he asked calmly. She nodded, and he shook his head. "I'm not. Had I given it some thought, I would have guessed."

"What?" At this, she finally looked up, her eyes wide.

He sighed and rose from his chair. "Come. Let's take this somewhere more private. I feel even more awkward discussing this with you in my office." He made a move to get up, but paused and reconsidered when he saw something flash in her eyes. "Unless – you're uncomfortable with that?"

"No, I'm just surprised," she hastened to diffuse any notion he might be having that she was afraid he might do something inappropriate. "This discussion is awkward no matter where we are having it. I just thought... Inviting me to your quarters isn't exactly keeping a distance, is it?" She was sure that no student had ever set foot into his private rooms. That he was literally offering her such a glimpse behind his walls was mind-boggling. He might as well have offered to strip naked. Which, now that the comparison was drawn, made her realise that it probably was entirely inappropriate. But then, this was true for many things they had done during the last months.

"I've been deceiving myself," Severus admitted bluntly. "It was stupid to pretend that you were just one of my students or that I was merely one of your professors right from the moment we kissed. It was impossible to suppress everything that was brought up and to simply go back to pretending nothing had changed. I guess my inexperience with matters of the heart shows."

"Well, it can't be worse than mine," Hermione said and got up as well.

"In that case, we'll just have to keep blundering through and be indulgent with each other. But I assure you that I have no intention of crossing boundaries again."

"I don't worry about that!" she protested. "Despite what you saw... it's not what I think about you... I do trust you."

"I know, Hermione," he assured her. "I just wanted to make sure you feel comfortable."

He opened the door at the back of his office and led her into his livingroom. Or maybe it was a study? It was hard to tell, with shelves full of books going up to the ceiling. The sight immediately calmed her, just like when she entered the library, as if merely surrounding herself with knowledge bound in leather was in itself a defence against failing, faltering, not knowing what to do and not having all the answers. It smelled as heavenly as in the library, too – of parchment and leather, and an added undercurrent of wood smoke.

The latter was owed to the huge fireplace that Severus ignited with a flick of his wand. Immediately, a merry fire sprang to life, illuminating two inviting, heavily padded armchairs and a matching ottoman facing it. He placed a gently glowing mageball into the rather Muggle looking floor lamp which stood between the chairs. A thick rug, a small coffee table piled with books, and a softly ticking mantlepiece clock rounded the homey picture.

"It's a nice room you've made for yourself..." she offered, looking around and not really knowing what to say.

He raised his brow. "Were you expecting naked walls, dingy lights and jars full of atrocities even in my living quarters?" he asked, fully aware of the ridiculous rumours that were going around students and staff alike. "Manacles, whips and thumbscrews for decoration? Me sleeping in a coffin? Sometimes, I wonder if I have played my part a little too convincingly..."

When he saw her blush, he wondered briefly if he had taken the joke a bit too far. But she quickly composed herself and huffed. "None of the above. But I admit I was expecting more – green." The room was furnished with haphazardly mixed furniture and accessories, not following a specific colour scheme. Still, the muted browns, deep blues and even the occasional burgundy fitted together nicely. It looked warm and comfortable, decorated to be used, not to impress.

He shook his head. "I see enough green in the Slytherin common room. It gets dull after a while."

"Yes," she agreed. "I feel the same about Gryffindor red."

He shrugged off his teaching robe, hanging it neatly on a coat hook by the door. For some weird reason, the simple gesture that probably just bespoke habit caught her attention. This was the most naked she had ever seen him – and he was still fully armoured wearing his frock coat with all the tiny buttons that had brought forward her incriminating fantasies. She had expected him to look less imposing without the billowing of his long robe that accentuated his every movement so effectively, but that wasn't the case. He seemed leaner, but no less formidable.  
Although for him, this state of 'undress' probably already stood for 'relaxed'.

Severus had taken notice of her curious gaze and Hermione was sure that he was wondering if the simple act of divesting his outer robe was too forward. But she understood that he probably didn't want to have this conversation while still wearing his teaching robe, calling extra attention to the inappropriateness of their situation.

It struck her mind that they were walking on eggshells again – like during that fateful night in his office, when they had both exposed huge parts of their souls and were unsure how to handle each other. Once again, they were both extremely aware and mindful of their vulnerabilities and the delicacy of their situation. Both of them were taking great pains not to say or do something that would cause more fissures or make something break.

Although the environment was soothing, she still felt nervous and awkward and was grateful when he offered her not only the chair but a cup of tea as well. Especially in moments like these, the magical tea-pots that filled with fresh brew at a simple tap of your wand came in handy. If nothing else, the mug gave her something to occupy her hands and rest her gaze on. She was not yet prepared to look him in the eye for fear of what she might find.

There was another awkward pause before Hermione dared to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. She was the one who had pushed him to continue her Occlumency lessons, even though he had clearly been reluctant to delve into her mind again. This was entirely her fault, all of it, but as his note had made clear, he blamed himself. It had made her cry even harder, because every line had indicated that he didn't even expect her to forgive his mistake, despite the fact that he had apologised, which certainly wasn't something that came easy to him.

"I want you to know one thing for sure, Severus," she told him quietly, but with determination. "Even if I had felt that you were to blame for seeing... what you saw, you would have been forgiven. But I'm not in a position to offer forgiveness. I'm the one who crossed the line."

Severus looked at the flustered, yet determined girl who sat before him. She really was a Gryffindor to the core. No matter how bad she felt or how difficult the situation was, she never took the coward's way out but did what had to be done, no matter how much it cost her. And, like a typical Gryffindor, she took on the entire blame of a situation gone wrong. He hadn't expected differently from her. But for her to think that she had crossed a line... "Why?" he asked, puzzled. "Because of your fantasies? Surely you realise that everybody has them..."

"Well, yes, but... it's different when nobody knows about them – especially not the person you've been fantasising about. Now that you do, I feel like I... took liberties with your person."

Bemused, he shook his head. That was ridiculous. What man wouldn't be pleased to star in an attractive woman's fantasies? "Hermione – you're free to take any liberties you like in your mind. That's the only place you should feel totally free to do whatever you please – or rather, whatever pleases you. I'm certainly not offended. Neither by the fact that you were fantasising about me, nor for the content of those fantasies."

For the first time, she fully raised her gaze and looked him in the eyes. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not." He felt rather embarrassed to talk about it, but he also felt that he needed to open up as well in order to re-establish balance and make her understand. His discomfort made him edgy, so instead of sitting down, he started pacing slowly in front of the fireplace, looking at his feet rather than looking at her.

"You said that you don't have vast sexual experience..." he started hesitantly. "Well, I do. Though 'vast' is probably not a fitting description, as my experiences were limited to meaningless and short-lived encounters with women I mostly didn't even particularly care for, and who didn't like me as a person, either. They just felt attracted to me because I was a young and powerful rising wizard in the Dark Lord's circle. It was all about favours, alliances and leverage." And of course, a mutual satisfaction of carnal needs.

"I figured that there must have been quite a few women who found yo attractive and vied for your attention," Hermione said. "And there's probably no denying that your dark Death Eater persona adds to the allure. But I very much doubt that they only wanted you to play power games with you."

Severus wondered if she was referring to the women's motives for choosing him or if she meant it in a more physical sense. It was right either way, but he needed to drive the second point home. "I assure you it was the only reason they chose me: Because I embodied power – in more than one aspect. Those women were looking for thrills and excitement, not for tender affections. They wanted exactly what my personality promised to fulfil – being intimidated, dominated, even treated roughly. They wanted to play with fire. Seeing you and me in your mind... the dissonance confused me."

"The dissonance?"

"Everything you told me and everything I had seen in your memories before told me that you believed me to be a man of honor, who is capable of empathy and patience. And yet, in your fantasies, you made me look like the man those women were after, who only wanted the rush of adrenaline that comes from being with someone who, deep down, you fear."

For a moment, he hadn't been sure what she saw in him and what she wanted from him. Had it been the romantically glorified, misunderstood, tragic hero, he would have thought her naive, and for her own sake, he would never have pursued a relationship with her. Had it been his alter ego, the ruthless Death Eater with his dark allure, the cold and sarcastic bad guy, she wouldn't have been any different from the women who had never seen anything else in him, and he wouldn't have wanted a relationship with her.

"No!" Hermione protested, shocked about the impression he had gained. "I'm not afraid of you! It wasn't like that!" It was true that the settings in her fantasies hadn't been about romance. He had in deed been quite dominant, commanding and assertive, because that side of him admittedly turned her on. He had done things he would never do in real life: Handing out naughty detenions in which he had exerted his authority in most wicked ways, not to mention the creative ways he had come up with to shut her up when she was endlessly regurgitating what she had read in a book. His desk had played a prominent role in those fantasies, too, and so had the manacles he had jokingly mentioned before. But still it sounded all wrong when he described it like that.

"It's not what I see in you... I do believe that you're an honourable man capable of empathy!" As if he was likely to believe that now... God, what had she done? Hermione knew that he could be gentle and patient and probably even loving. But her imagination had come up short when trying to picturing him being intimate and romantic. She hadn't even tried. The man in her fantasy had been just that – a fantasy painted after his image. Although she had practically tailor-made the role for him, she had not assumed that it matched reality. To think that it actually might was thrilling, but it was not all she saw in him.

The hint of panic in her voice made him hasten to assure her. "I know, Hermione – I know that," he said, his expression softening. "And believe me, it made all the difference to me. I understand now."

She returned his gaze, looking puzzled. He understood why she loved him for his decency and yet made him seem quite debauched in her fantasies? It didn't even make sense to her. "You do? How so, when I don't even understand it myself?"

He smiled softly. "I believe this is where the thing called 'life experience' comes into play. All experience, however bad it may be, at least serves this purpose – it gives you insight. Relating mine to everything I have learned about you, it was rather obvious what you seek from me."

"And what do you think it is?" she asked, fearful about his response.

"Guidance," he said gently, having stopped his pacing altogether and keeping her firmly in the focus of his gaze.

And how familiar this yearning was to him... It was exactly how he had felt after his falling-out with Lily, before he had joined the Death Eaters. Disorientated, inadequate, grieved by loss and guilt and the feeling of not belonging anywhere. He, too, had been afraid of what the future held for him, he had seen no sense and no aim in anything at the time. And he'd have given anything for someone to guide him, to accept him with all his faults and weaknesses, someone to take him by the hand and lead the way. He had wished for a father figure, a mentor, but unfortunately for him, he had gotten Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord. The newfound purpose, the safety and the sense of belonging they offered had been relatively short-lived and had come at a high price. He wouldn't allow that to happen to her.

"You long for someone to tell you what to do so you can stop thinking and give that ever busy mind of yours a little rest. Someone to take the burden of responsibility from you, if only for a while, so that you will bear no blame for whatever happens. You don't want to make any more decisions, you don't want to think things through all the time. For once, you want to rely on someone else to take care of things and make them all right. You are desperate for someone to take control, someone you deem capable of handling things so that you can feel safe enough to let go."

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes wide in surprise, even in shock. It was true. In just a few sentences he had described all her confusion: the conflicting emotions she had felt particularly strongly since the war, her frustration and her lack of drive. She was sick and tired of watching out for everybody else, when she felt so completely at a loss herself. How often had she desperately wished for someone to step in, to make it all go away and make her feel safe again, especially during the last year? That he had figured her out in just a few weeks was nothing short of amazing. Especially coming from a man everybody falsely believed to be utterly devoid of empathy.

"How can you know so exactly what I feel?" she asked, wonder in her voice. "Surely not from experience... I very much doubt that you ever wished for someone else to be in charge."

"No," he confirmed immediately. "I've been on the receiving end for far too long. I don't want to follow anyone else's orders ever again. I want to do my own thinking, make my own decisions and take responsibility for my actions. I'm desperate for control. But I was young once, too, and insecure. Unfortunately, I turned to the wrong kind of people to find my place in life. We both have been forced to behave in ways which in many aspects ran contrary to our personalities for a long time. I was forced to submit. You were forced to take control. None of it comes naturally to us."

She gave a small laugh, which had a tint of bitterness to it. "A lot of people would say that taking control is not at all contrary to my nature."

"Why – because they call you bossy and a know-it-all? The human mind is a very complex thing. Yes, you crave control – you want things to be predictable, orderly, reliable. The chaos of unhinged passions, overboiling emotions, situations in which no rules apply and logic is no use scare you. You don't like surprises because they conflict with your need to be prepared for all eventualities."

Hermione nodded. Yes, that was spot on, too. Harry's and Ron's recklessness, the way they had rushed headfirst into danger without planning and preparation had made her want to tear her hair out on more than one occasion. Both of them had been way too emotional for her comfort, especially Ron ever since the war. You couldn't rely on someone who always acted on his emotions.

"But the fact that you are craving control doesn't necessarily mean that you want to be the one who does the controlling," Severus continued his analysis. "Most of the time, you simply had no other choice if you wanted to assure that things didn't go to hell. Not with those hot-headed, foolish and impulsive friends of yours. It was necessity that made you take your share of responsibility, you're not a leader by choice. You're too afraid of making mistakes. I've known that since the first year I had you in my Potions class."

"You said so before..." she remembered, "when we were discussing my parents."

"Yes, and it's true," he said, seeing that she was doubtful and not pleased at the notion. "Do you need proof for the theory? Tell me then: Why do you like potions?"

Hermione was briefly thinking of saying something like 'because it's an interesting subject' or 'because I find my teacher challenging'. But then she thought back to the feeling that overcame her every time she entered the potion's lab nowadays. Sure, a huge part was the feeling of security she had because of him. But another, large part was because potion making itself was soothing.

"Because it's simple," she said, comprehension dawning. "All I have to do is follow the recipe, and nothing can go wrong."

"Yes, exactly," he confirmed, and for once, she heard praise in his voice that she never received for getting an answer right in class. "You like following clear and precise instructions. Your potions were always impeccable. But likewise, I always berated you for your lack of creativity and originality. You never experiment, never dare to deviate from the textbook."

Funnily enough, it wasn't as if she hadn't put things into question. She had done so, quite frequently, and some of her ideas had been remarkable. But instead of following her instinct and putting them to the test like he and Lily had done, she had retreated to the library and researched the matter thoroughly in theory, finding supporting arguments and documented evidence. She then had put it all into her essays, elaborating in detail what she thought the possible outcome of exchanging one ingredient for another might be and reciting her sources. Instead of simply trusting her knowledge and her judgement, she had rather given suggestions to him – the Potions Master – as if he didn't already know. And it hadn't been for safety reasons, either. She had known that, in most cases, the worst she would have ended up with was a ruined potion. But that scenario had been horrifying enough to cure her of any urge she might have felt to trust her instinct and take initiative.

"You're always afraid of doing something wrong and failing," he said. "That's why you like following rules so much. Because if you do, you're not to blame for anything that goes wrong."

"Yet I broke them many times during my times here in Hogwarts," she pointed out. "You often reprimanded me for that, too."

He smirked. "Indeed. But how did you feel knowing that you were breaking perfectly reasonable and long established rules?"

"Bad," she admitted, reluctantly.

"And you don't like being bad, Hermione, do you?"

She raised her head at the slightly suggestive tone of his voice, which sent a delicious shiver down her spine. There was something in his eyes that she couldn't define. It made her nervous, but in a good way. Did that even make sense? In the light of what he was getting at, it probably did. She wanted excitement and that kick of adrenalin in an actually safe and controlled environment, and that was exactly what he was promising. He knew what she wanted, and if she wasn't entirely mistaken, he was willing to deliver. She swallowed, still staring at him with wide eyes, wondering how he could cause such reactions in her with a mere glance and a few uttered words, when nothing she and Ron had tried had evoked similar feelings of excitement.

Severus, who had observed her intently and probably knew exactly what was going on in her mind – he always seemed to know – chuckled softly and toned down again whatever it was that she had seen flashing in his eyes. More sombrely he added: "You think that your worth is determined by things you do right. You can't stand people being angry with you or disapproving of you, because you fear it means they don't like you. That's why you were so desperate for my approval."

"I respected and admired you," she still argued, vetting his theory – however convincing it might be. "Of course I wanted your approval."

"And not even my rude treatment of you changed that, although by all rights, it should have. I was hardly the person entitled to pass judgement. I didn't like anybody – or at least I pretended not to. But that didn't ever make you question whether my opinion even mattered. You have an ingrained respect for authority figures, because subconsciously, you attribute them superior knowledge and power, and for you, that translates to security and order."

In the light of this realisation, it was absolutely clear why she felt drawn to him; logical, even. She would never be with a boy of her age. Apart from the fact that she'd have a hard time finding someone who would challenge her and who could intellectually hold a candle to her, everything she wanted pointed at someone older, someone more experienced, someone she could look up to.

"Not with Umbridge, I didn't!" Hermione protested against the notion that she was subservient to authority.

Severus snorted. "I'm talking of natural, ingrained authority, not a fancy position or a letter from the ministry. Umbridge hardly qualified as 'authority figure.' Neither did Lockhart, but you figured that out, eventually. But think of all your other teachers – Minerva, Remus, Dumbledore and me..."

"Authority, knowledge, power, security and order..." she admitted. "I always associated you with all of that."

"I know," he said, and a bit smugly added: "And it's part of why you like calling me 'Sir' so much."

She blushed slightly. "I call you that in your function as my professor, and I like it because it's an expression of respect and esteem. I do respect you. And I wanted you to respect me, too. Not to think of me as one of your much-maligned dunderheads."

"I never thought of you as that. And you have my respect, and my esteem."

"Still?" Again she raised her eyes to search his face, as of she wanted to make sure that he answered truthfully.

"Yes, of course. Why should that have changed?"

"Because being like you described, what you saw in my mind, what I feel most of the time now... isn't it pathetic? Not being able to even make the simplest decision? Not wanting to even think anymore? Wanting someone else to tell me what to do so I can blame them for everything that might go wrong? Wanting someone with authority in charge, liking to abide by rules and be obedient? I want you to see me as an adult, but what it comes down to is basically me behaving like a child."

"Did you like being a child?" he asked, seemingly a bit off topic.

"Well, not all of it, but basically, yes," Hermione answered, bemused. "Why?"

"What was good about it?"

"Being sheltered, being cared for. Having always someone to rely on. Life was so simple, back then. Just black and white, no confusion. No responsibility. And it's all lost to me forever, as I don't have parents anymore."

Yes, the loss of her parents had contributed a great deal to her current torment. It equalled the loss of her childhood. It had been her own decision, but that had made it even worse. The moment she had obliviated her parents she had killed her inner child and had forsaken her safe haven – adults who would always be trusted to take care of her, shelter her and be there for her. From what he understood, people needed at least one such person in their lives to be emotionally stable. As proven by his own, negative example.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to be looked after," he said gently. "There's nothing wrong with wanting someone else to take some of the decisions when you feel insecure or are, no matter how unjustified, afraid of failing."

She seemed unconvinced.

"Hermione, you are clearly not a child," he said, imploring her to understand this important point. "You took a load on your shoulders that most adults would have judged too much to carry, and you pulled through. You have knowledge, even wisdom, beyond your years. You have proven yourself often enough. Everybody knows that you are a competent, clever and powerful witch. I have no doubt that you are capable of making decisions for yourself, even if you feel a little adrift right now. You have always been strong. You will find that strength again, in time. So again – nobody, surely not me – will think less of you for wanting to hand over responsibility every once in a while. I'd be happy to take it."

They both knew they were talking about more than just her current burdens – the issues she had to deal with in consequence of the war. This went deeper. Her personality had been shaped into the form it was now from early childhood on. Her recent experiences had only given an edge to her basic needs.

"You would?" she asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed at the idea, but relieved and – thrilled.

Merlin – to think that she would ever trust him that much... He knew it was pathetic, but to him, it was like being offered the Holy Grail. He wasn't used to being trusted. Dumbledore had always declared that he trusted him, but he had still kept so many things from him. His students had always mistrusted him, and nearly all of his colleagues, though he could hardly blame them. Even most of the members of the Order had remained wary of him, and rightly so. Lily had entrusted Harry's life to him, but only because she hadn't had much of a choice and because the life debt he owed James had assured that Severus would keep his promise. The Dark Lord had never fully confided in him, and neither had his fellow Death Eaters. Not even Draco.

He couldn't honestly remember a single person that had ever fully trusted him with anything – not without demanding some kind of insurance in return. And certainly not to the degree of making themselves totally vulnerable to him. Worse yet, he had been forced to prove anybody wrong for believing him to be half-way decent, time and time again. He couldn't deny that it had left scars on his psyche. He hadn't really pondered so much why he liked being in power over other people, even in the bedroom, but he figured that it also had do to with this: He needed to prove to himself that he could be trusted, that he could be given power, because he wouldn't abuse it in a fundamental way. Not like his father or his fellow Death Eaters. Not even like Dumbledore.

"How can you doubt that with everything you know about me?" Severus asked back quietly.  
Of course, Hermione had no idea how much he was craving someone's trust and that he would grab such a gift like a drowning man a piece of driftwood. But surely she must know that he he wouldn't be averse to taking charge if she wanted him to. "You know what kind of man I am, Hermione. It's not all been a role. I told you that, contrary to you, I do crave control, and I have no problem exercising it."

By all rights, this should scare her. Most of the people he knew wouldn't even for a minute consider placing themselves – body, mind and heart – in the hands of someone like him. But Hermione wasn't scared. She was indignant.

"It's not all that you are!" she objected most vehemently. "I know that you can be patient, gentle, and understanding. You've shown me this side of you these past weeks. Luna was right about her Gloomilows – I feel so much better for being with you, you make me feel whole again, almost like my old self. I'd hate to think you felt reduced to being dominating, controlling, and intimidating. And I'd hate even more for you to feel that I reduced you to that."

"I know that you didn't, Hermione. I saw how you see me, and what you felt, and it's given me quite an epiphany, believe me." Against all odds, she had always trusted him. It was a heady feeling. He could well imagine that it could easily become his new drug. "I fully realise that you wouldn't even be entertaining these fantasies if you were not at ease with me."

It had been the most puzzling revelation. When he had revisited everything he had seen about himself in her mind he had found both: his 'good' side – the one he had always disregarded and throttled – and his dark side, which he had focussed his entire self-awareness on. Before he let himself be sucked into her fantasies, the suspicion had formed in his mind that she was misinterpreting his actions and his character in a favourable way, so that the overall picture showed her exactly what she wanted to see. He had feared that she, with her kindness and innocence, was incapable of grasping what was undeniably also a part of his personality. But she was not in denial about that. Knowing what she did about him, she had painted him out to be quite dominant, even intimidating in her fantasies, but underneath her excitement, lust and vulnerability, there had always been the feeling of being safe and sheltered. It had seemed contradictory, as it went against all his beliefs and experiences.

In a nutshell, his experiences had led him to believe that being kind, open and sensitive made you become a victim of bullies and essentially got you nowhere, while being powerful, arrogant and slightly aggressive got you respect and admiration, but left you feeling strangely empty and aching inside. But Hermione obviously wanted all of him. It had made him finally understand that attributes he had thought to be mutually exclusive didn't have to be. Being strong did allow for weakness. Being harsh and gruff didn't mean you knew no kindness. And being powerful and dominating certainly didn't equal being abusive. He had been going from one extreme to another – partly due to circumstances, but also, if he was honest, because he hadn't known a middle way.

It was going to be a process to incorporate these newly gained revelations into his pattern of behaviour and into his view of himself, but he now felt that it was possible. He was only 39, for Merlin's sake – certainly young enough to change his ways and to hope for a better future. And he now could even envision a future with Hermione in it.

Only that she still looked doubtful. "One of the reasons you gave me for not wanting us to be together right now is this imbalance in our relationship due to my youth and the fact that you're in a position of power over me," she said, sounding disheartened. "How can I ever hope to be a partner for you if I don't really wish that to change?"

Again, Severus shook his head in bemusement. As incompetent as he was at seeing himself clearly, he was still amazed that others were obviously struggling with the same difficulties. "I don't think you are ever going to be submissive in a partnership, or that you would allow anyone to treat you like a child," he said, full of conviction. "You're much too wilful and strong-minded for that. You can think for yourself just fine, and I have no doubt that there is even a creative streak in you that, if you ever find the confidence to let it run free, will let you accomplish amazing things. Likewise, my position of authority never kept you from standing up to me, from talking back to me if you felt it was deserved. We're just talking about one aspect in a relationship here – an area where you feel inexperienced and insecure, and where previous experiences – I'm strongly suspecting that a certain red-haired dunderhead is hugely to blame for that – made you doubt yourself. When I was pointing out our age difference, I never meant to imply that I thought you were too young for me. It's the other way round. I thought I was too old for you, too flawed and damaged, too set in my ways."

"And you don't think that anymore?"

"Let me show you something that might serve better to give you the answer to that question." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "Expecto Patronum!" His voice rang clear and confident when he spoke the incantation. Immediately, a strong silvery light burst from the tip of his wand and took the corporeal form of an animal.

"An eagle!" Hermione breathed, as she watched the striking bird of prey circle the room with lazy flaps of impressive wings. "It's magnificent! But I thought... your Patronus was a doe."

"It has changed. Patronuses do that if something in oneself changes in a fundamental way." Once again overcome with solemnity and calm, he watched the eagle flexing his mighty wings.

Hermione pulled out her wand as well and spoke the spell. Her familiar otter burst from her wand, vibrant and vivacious. It playfully swam through the air, nosily looking this way and that, throwing curious glances at them as if wondering if they might want something from him. Though Severus surely wouldn't have said so, the tiny, friendly animal was rather cute.

"It's still the same," Hermione said, not sure how to feel about that. She had always loved her otter, but she, too, felt that the war had changed her on a fundamental level. She didn't feel bright, curious and buoyant anymore, so by all rights, her Patronus should have changed, too – into something more portly and more solemn.

"See!" Severus just said, smiling at her as if her otter had proven a point. "Despite everything you experienced and despite what you feel now – you're still the same pushy, strong-minded, insufferable know-it-all you always were. Not even the Dark Lord with all his minions was able to change that – while my self-awareness was completely thrown over by a girl just about half my age and size. Now tell me: "Who's the strong one in this relationship?"

This time, when she raised her eyes at him, she smiled. "Thank you. I guess I'll need some time to think about what you said, but it helped a great deal. I take it that means you're finally able to see us in a relationship?"

"What kept me from it was the fact that I've not been truly at ease with myself for a long time; surely you noticed that. But I'm intelligent enough to realise that my self-awareness isn't very healthy and in serious need of re-evaluation. You always talk about believing in second chances... and maybe some of that has begun to rub off on me, because I'm starting to believe that things and people can change, even myself."

She stood up and walked over to him, putting her arms firmly around him and pressing her face to his chest. "I'm glad," she whispered. "More than glad, actually. If anyone deserves a life under better circumstance than those you were dealt, it's you."

He cautiously wrapped his arms around her too, pulling her close in his embrace for a moment. Resting his chin on her head – she fitted right beneath it – he inhaled the flowery scent of her hair. Then he gently grasped her shoulders and separated them, though he still kept his hands on her. "Hermione – this doesn't mean that I want this relationship to start now..." he felt the need to clarify, hoping that he wasn't sending the wrong signals.

"I know," she assured him, smiling at him despite the fact that her eyes were slightly moist. "But until then – can we be friends?"

"Friends? No," he said, as the term always made him think of Potter and Weasley and he had no desire to be in the same league with them regarding her affections. "We're going to be in a platonic relationship as two people who mean a lot more to each other than that." He was not going to confess his love to her just now. When the moment was right for him to do so, he wanted to be free to kiss her, take her in his arms and touch her in all the ways he could not touch her now. But he knew that she knew it already. Some things needn't be voiced to be said.

* * *

 _A/N: I have about two or three more chapters to follow which I had to cut out of the otherwise excessive epilogue. They will cover the time until graduation and graduation itself, followed by two epilogues. Given that all these chapters have been added only recently, I might still need some time to revise them, so don't count on weekly updates. As there will be a time gap between this chapter an the next one anyway, consider it a real-time novel :)_


	19. Sea of Serenity

Summary of Chapter 18 – An Intimate Discussion

Hermione finally seeks out Severus to discuss what happened during their last Occlumency lesson. She feels guilty for pushing him into resuming her lessons despite his reluctance, and is also terribly embarrassed about him seeing her fantasies. Severus, who gives up on keeping his distance under the circumstances, invites her into his quarters, where they have a long talk about their wants, their needs and their desires. Hermione realises a few things about herself, and they both see just how perfectly well they are suited for each other.

 _A/N: Sorry that it took longer than expected to get this chapter ready. I had written just a part of it when writing scenes that had to do with Occlumency, and since some of you seemed interested in my take on the mind arts, I added it to the story. To fit it into a frame, I just went with where Hermione's and Severus' dialogue took me. As a result, the chapter doesn't really have a golden thread; just titbits of information and some chatting and flirting to cover those missing months until graduation._

* * *

 **Sea of Serenity**

Hermione sat with her legs pulled up in the comfortable chair by the fireplace in Severus' office, chapter thirteen of "Advanced Transfiguration" opened in her lap. Her eyes were on the page, but her thoughts clearly were elsewhere.

Severus, who after years of spying and overseeing students' brewing was trained to unconsciously pick up on even seemingly innocuous details, had noticed that she hadn't turned a page in the last five minutes. It was unusual, as she was usually a fast reader. He knew, because she often came down here nowadays to study for her NEWTs. It was quiet in the dungeons – its one and only advantage over any other place in the castle. Added to that, he was usually able to answer the rather sophisticated questions that inevitably came up when Hermione became engrossed in the material she was revising. If not, he had the books at hand one could consult on the matter, some of which couldn't even be found in library. Aside from the practical aspect, Hermione insisted that she enjoyed his company.

Deep in thought, she was playing with a tendril of her hair that had escaped again from her messy bun, but he doubted that she was going over transfiguration spells and wand movements in her mind.

"Daydreaming, Miss Granger?" he taunted, startling her out of her revery. "If we were in class right now I'd deduct at least ten points for failing to concentrate on the task at hand."

Someone less adept at hearing subtle nuances in his tone probably wouldn't have known he was teasing. Hermione, however, had become quite proficient at reading his moods and looked up smiling. "Then I guess I'd be begging you to give me detention instead," she said cheekily. "But since this is not a potentially hazardous environment like the lab, my daydreaming here is perfectly safe and warrants no punishment or concern on your part."

"I guess that depends on where you thoughts have drifted to," he retorted suspiciously.

"They were totally innocuous, I assure you. I was thinking of my last Occlumency lesson."

His eyebrows rose. "Your last Occlumency lesson was anything but 'innocuous', if I may remind you..." he pointed out.

Hermione blushed. Yes, if you looked at it from _that_ angle, it was certainly true. The ensuing conversation had been pretty intimate, too. It had proved to be another defining moment in their relationship. In a strange way, it had changed nothing and yet everything between them. She felt as if she could now see clearly what had been only hazy before; as if she now understood on a conscious level what she had known in her heart all along. And for Hermione, who always longed to understand, who wanted to get to the bottom of all things, it made all the difference.

It didn't even matter whether she liked what she had found or not. There was no use in judging – this was how things were, this was how she was. And everything she had understood about herself had also confirmed that Severus was exactly the person she wanted and needed by her side: Someone knowledgeable and experienced, capable of taking responsibility, someone she could look up to and bounce thoughts off. He would stand up to her and not let her trample all over him, he would constantly challenge her and was strong enough to give her support when she couldn't summon her own strength. There was no 'if' anymore about their relationship, but only a 'when'.

For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt as if she was on truly on the mend. She was beginning to see the figurative light at the end of the tunnel. There were things to look forward to, and she was confident that she would find aim and purpose again.

One of the first things she re-discovered in terms of drive and determination was her desire to learn. Her focus, however, wasn't entirely on her NEWTs. She wanted to master Occlumency.

As far as her lessons were concerned, she knew she had reached the point she had needed to go. She had seen the entire picture of the tapestry that showed Hermione. And though nothing had come as a revelation – after all, she had been aware of all of it before – the long process of making her aware of her own mind, of her 'make-up', of who she was – this journey of discovery which had begun with their Occlumency lessons had reached its destination.

There was no further he could go inside her mind, no more hidden things to discover, no more secrets to reveal. If knowing your own mind was the key to successfully occluding, she held it in her hand, but had yet to figure out how to use it. And this was what she had been pondering just a moment ago.

"I was merely thinking about technicalities," she clarified, "not about... you know what. I think I managed to stop you from looking into specific memories twice – or at least made it harder for you look into them."

He thought of the door to the toilet stall she had all but smashed into his face. "Indeed," he commented dryly. "It would seem that you are finally getting the idea." Before, she had only managed to block him when he had tried to a find a specific piece of information by implementing pictures or thoughts of his own making. It was totally different from searching her mind by pulling on her emotions.

"I'm not so sure," Hermione said doubtfully. "Most of the time, I didn't really know what I was doing." It was a bit frustrating... she had the feeling that she was almost there – like she knew all the letters, but didn't quite know how to connect them to read the word. "Preventing you from seeing a particular memory last minute is not the same as hiding them in the first place. When you enter my mind, everything is right there."

"That's because your emotions are so tangible. I only have to follow a particular thread and it takes me right to the connected memory. You have to learn how to conceal them."

"Yes, I understand – that's what you do when you turn your mind into an arid plain. But how do you create such an expanse of nothingness?" It sounded as if she was supposed to stop thinking and feeling – but how was she supposed to do that? Even when her mind was wandering, like just now, it was still pretty busy, running in circles, taking her this way and that. Not like Severus' mind, which had been calm and almost completely empty.

He shrugged. "It's a visualisation, just like your barrier."

Hermione frowned. "That can't be all. If you had advised Harry to imagine a steel wall around his mind, do you think it would have prevented you from penetrating it?"

"No, of course not. If it was that easy, everybody would have strong walls. There's more to it than that, just like magic is more than foolish wand waving and saying an incantation. The key to magic – and the Mind Arts – is intent. It was your will that put up that wall."

"But you chose the image consciously," she argued. "The maze of threads was just there."

"Well, your visualisation is a bit haphazard in appearance. While I tripped or got entangled in some of your thoughts when I first entered it, the last time I got caught up in your emotions, it was like drowning in a whirlpool. Giving it more structure might help. A maze could be a good visualisation, if you make it consistent. But like any mind-image, it can only help you to sort and clear your thoughts and emotions. To successfully occlude, you must figure out how to do what Harry never managed: How to empty your mind."

*'*'*'*'*'*

In order to practice what Severus had suggested, Hermione had put on her coat, her scarf and her knit cap and had sought out the place she often visited when wanting solitude and quiet – the Black Lake. While the small beach in the woods beneath the castle was often frequented by students in summer, it was usually deserted around this time of the year. After having cast an additional warming charm on herself, she had sat down on a boulder close to the frozen edges of the water and gazed across the water.

Letting her thoughts drift across the quiet surface of the lake and feeling her body relax with the quiet and peacefulness, Hermione realised that she had just found her perfect visualisation. If anything helped her clear her mind of emotions, it was that: Just looking at the water and seeing the sky reflected in it when the lake was calm like mirror, watching flecks of light dance on its surface when a mild breeze was rippling the water, or listening to the waves crushing at the shore when a strong wind managed to put whitecaps on them.

Water would make for a perfect visualisation. Like her state of mind, it could be calm or turbulent, cold and closed-off or warm and welcoming. If she could make her mind resemble water, it should easily accommodate whatever was thrown into it without being hurt or damaged by the intrusion; it would allow her thoughts and memories to either surface or to sink to the deepest point where no light ever touched them. Ideally, her mindscape would be calm and serene, a smooth mirror that only reflected what was on the outside.

Determined and eager as always when tackling a new task, Hermione consciously tried to quiet her mind whenever circumstances allowed it. Spacing out in the middle of lunch or in Transfiguration class, however, proved unadvisable. Yet despite her friends' worried inquiries and her teacher's rebuff, Hermione was proud that she had managed to tune out noises and people around her to reach an inner state of utter calm.

She practiced every evening when she went to bed, finding out that visualising the lake and imagining how the waves smoothed out until the troubled water came to rest helped her fall asleep more easily and made for more restful sleep.

A week later, Hermione felt confident that she had the knack, and was eager to put her visualisation skills to the test. She had no idea, though, how Severus felt about delving into her mind again. This time, she swore to herself, she wouldn't nag him about it. If he was reluctant, this would have to wait, even if it meant taking another lesson in patience instead of Occlumency.

Silently praying that it wouldn't be necessary, she approached him about it after she had finished testing the potions the first and second years had brewed that day and written down the results for him to mark their work later. "I would like you try to legilimise me again," she told him quietly. "I believe I have found a good visualisation and would really like to see if I'm able to successfully occlude with it. But only if you feel comfortable doing it."

Given the hesitancy of her request, she probably thought he feared a repeat of their last Occlumency lesson. Catching another glimpse into her fantasies was surely something he'd avoid at all costs – at least until their situation allowed them to let themselves be carried away by it. He felt warmth spread all over his body whenever he thought about it, which he tried not to do frequently.

"How confident are you that you will successfully prevent me from venturing into dangerous territory again?" he asked, as if pondering her request and weighing the risks involved. In truth, he wasn't concerned about them – he wouldn't be caught unaware a second time. But if she lacked confidence in her ability, the attempt was foredoomed to fail.

"Very confident," she replied, without hesitance this time. "I know how to empty my mind now."

"After only working with your visualisation for a week?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her. "Always the overachiever, Miss Granger, aren't we?"

"It'll only count as overachieving if it works," she countered his good-natured taunting.

Severus was confident that it would. She had proved an extremely apt, studious and diligent student, eager to learn, willing to listen and to take advice, stubborn and determined. He was glad that she had re-discovered her drive, if only in her endeavour to learn Occlumency. Hopefully, she would soon find the same purpose and ambition when it came to her planning her future.

"I take it you do not want me to try and overcome your wall first?"

"No, thank you!" Hermione repudiated the idea. "I can do without the headache it gave me last time. I know that my shields are strong. I want to know if my visualisation is good enough to help hide my feelings once you're inside my mind."

"Very well," he said and beckoned her into his office, where she immediately sat down in her chair. Lately, he often forgot to change it back into the hard chair after she had left, which had already earned him a few surprised glances from other students who had less pleasurable reasons for finding themselves in his office.

Hermione seemed a bit surprised that he had agreed to legilimising her so easily. Quite obviously, she had expected him to be reluctant. But he wasn't – not anymore. His reticence had been rooted in the difficulty of their situation, in his discomfort with any form of nearness and his suspicion that she might be infatuated with some dream image of him that he would never live up to in reality. Now that he understood how well they complemented each other, most of these concerns had disappeared into thin air.

If he was still careful to keep up his guard around her, it was only because she certainly wouldn't do so. She had this incomprehensible urge to express affection, happiness and gratefulness through touch, and he had come dangerously close to finding himself hugged again more than once. His own desire to touch her had grown rapidly, too, but he was obviously more in control of his emotions. They hadn't set foot into his private quarters again after that one evening, hoping that staying in his office would help them to keep within their agreed boundaries.

"Then you'll certainly allow me to do a little experiment of my own..." he said, smirking at her suddenly wary expression when he approached her and positioned himself right in front of her chair.

"What kind of experiment?"

"I'm going to do it wandlessly."

"But – didn't you say that without a wand, the force was not as concentrated and thus more difficult to control?" she asked, looking a bit concerned.

"Yes, but I'm not going to use any force since you're not putting up shields. It shouldn't matter if I used my wand or not." If his theory was correct, he should be able to slip into her mind with ease, even wandless. Ever since her Occlumency lessons had brought up these rather daring ideas about Legilimency, he had wished to explore them more deeply. One question in particular had aroused his curiosity, though further research would have to wait for at least another three months: He wondered what Legilimency might possibly add to the experience if invoked in an intimate situation. Judging by what they had discovered, it promised to be mind-blowing. In any case, wandless Legilimency would come in handy, as his hands were likely to be occupied elsewhere when he finally got to test his theory.

Right now, he rested them on the armrests of her chair, supporting his upper body on his arms as he leaned down. It brought their faces near and allowed for close eye contact, which made his task easier, but it had her cornered in the chair with him towering over her. Although Severus made sure that people never got too close to him, invading the personal space of his students was a means of intimidation he used frequently and without even thinking about it. He truly hadn't thought about it now. If he had, he would have realised that the position which would make every other student cower in fear certainly did no such thing to Hermione. His unexpected nearness just made her very flustered and caused her heart to beat faster. Blast! He realised, ruefully, that it wouldn't make Occluding any easier.

Well, this would be testing under duress, then – he would not back away now. "Prepare yourself," he said softly, and it was all the warning she got. Without saying the incantation aloud, he just let himself fall into her eyes.

Immediately, he found himself on the threshold of her mind – quite literally in fact, as he seemed to be standing in a sort of open archway. It looked as if might lead to one of Hogwarts' numerous courtyards, except it was set rather high above ground – without there actually being a ground. Beneath him stretched the Black Lake – or a body of water in a deep, saturated blue which reminded him of it. Sunlight was dancing on the gently rolling surface, beckoning invitingly, as if Hermione wanted him to dive in. For a brief moment, he was overcome once again by unfathomable emotions. It was the trust that she so guilelessly offered – it threw him every time, filling him with awe, bewilderment and elation.

Different from his last attempt to legilimise her, when the sudden yielding of her walls had made is penetration almost seem like a sexual act, there was nothing sexual about it now. He rather felt as if he was about to perform a sacramental rite – although the thought seemed utterly ridiculous even to himself. He was not a religious man.

Still – he couldn't really explain why he did it... maybe it was the visualisation of water that demanded it, or maybe it was his need to reciprocate and offer something in return for her trust. But in this strange, metaphysical world, he felt compelled to undo all of his buttons and shed his protective layers, laying himself bare as he mentally prepared to dive into the lake of her mind. Piece after piece disappeared into the ether as soon as he let go of it, until finally, he found himself naked. Not 'in the nude' like physically disrobed, because he didn't have even have a visible, physical body inside her mind, but bare of the concealing and constricting shell that he always wore.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. And then he jumped headfirst into the beckoning water.

Hermione, who had been a bit unsettled by his unexpected nearness, had immediately focused all her thoughts on her visualisation of her lake in an attempt to calm herself. It's surface, rippled and patterned with brighter and darker hues of blue, reflected her slight agitation. By forgoing the erection of a wall this time, she had somehow created a sort of vestibule to her mind instead. She could feel him there, a dark shadow lingering just the edge of her awareness, not fully in, not fully out. She also felt his moment of hesitation, probably owed to his reservations about the shared intimacy. Although she had nothing left to hide, she'd rather not have a repeat performance herself.

Still, his palpable unease helped to calm hers. She felt the surface of her lake smooth out as the ripples moved towards the shore and disappeared, leaving it serene and quiet like the Hogwarts Lake on a particularly windless day. But there was an expectancy in the air, a heightened awareness, which made her particularly sensitive to his presence. Something about it had changed.

It was difficult to put into words. Had she been asked to describe it, she would have said that it felt as if the person who was about to dive into her mind was not Professor Snape, teacher and Head of Slytherin House, not Master Snape, the renowned Potioneer, and not the reformed Death Eater, Order member and spy. Not even the man Severus Snape, to whom she felt attracted and who stirred all kinds of new and exciting feelings in her. No, this was just – Severus. A human being, vulnerable, with faults and flaws and insecurities of his own, honest and raw. And instinctively, she understood what he had done. This guarded, private and proud man was sacrificing part of his dignity by letting her see what he so carefully hid from anybody else. Her heart swelled at the realisation.

When he plunged into her awaiting mind, the feeling was more comprehensive, more intense than ever before – as if, instead of tentatively touching something inside her like he had before, he was now fully immersed in her. Although his intrusion was expected, even welcomed, it created a momentary disturbance that resonated everywhere within her mind, like a stone thrown into a lake sent a circle of waves even to the furthest shore and kicked up things from the bottom.

Severus felt a brief moment of disorientation, when bubbles were rising from the darkness below him from the turbulence he had caused. He half expected to be caught in a wave and thrown back to shore, out of her mind, but instead, the troubled water slowly settled around him when Hermione willed herself to relax again and let it be. His presence was familiar. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him.

He could feel the soft movement of the water almost like a caress, but still in a totally nonsexual way. It felt comforting and soothing – a strange feeling he had never experienced before. Despite the fact that he was an intruding element that clearly didn't belong here, he was made part of this environment, and he found himself floating in the calmness and serenity that was Hermione's mind.

It was quiet and peaceful, there was no need to even breathe. He felt utterly weightless as the warm water carried him effortlessly. It was easy to get lost in the feeling and forget why he even was here. For a brief moment, he thought that he would even like to lose himself in this... in this warmth and weightlessness, the seclusion that didn't feel like solitude at all.

Slightly alarmed by this feeling of complacence, he reminded himself where he was and what he was supposed to do. Resolutely he started moving again – was he swimming? There was nothing to orient him, nothing to direct his way.

There was darkness below – probably where she kept everything hidden – and he dived into it. Vague forms of light and shadow ghosted around him – or were they just reflections from the silvery surface above? He wasn't sure.

For a brief moment, something appeared in front of his eyes – something vibrant, colourful and lively. A thought or a memory? He reached out, but before his hand could grasp it, it was gone, disappearing into the darkness again. He now realised that he was surrounded by those ghostly shapes... they were different in colour and kept drifting in and out of his sight – some vibrant, others murky, some pale or even translucent, almost like jelly fish. But as often as he chased after them and tried to get a hold of one, they always slipped through is fingers.

He decided to ignore these fleeting thoughts and memories and get right to the bottom of it. There had to be a bottom to this lake, somewhere. But although the water was getting more sombre further down and although he had no doubt that there were darker, murkier places in the deep, he could still see the occasional beam of light falling through the darkness, as if a ray from the sun above had found its way even into the deepest depths of this lake.

He wasn't even sure anymore if it was a lake at all. It rather felt like he was diving in the abyss of an ocean – there seemed to be no end to it. He almost had to laugh at the thought: What had he expected – Hermione was, after all, anything but shallow.

He was moving about with ease now, causing hardly a disturbance anymore. He had given up trying to catch one of those fishy shapes that were her thoughts and memories. She was successfully occluding, and he felt his chest swell with pride at her accomplishment. His mission here was accomplished. But for the moment, he was perfectly content to linger in her mind and simply enjoy the calm, the warmth and the feeling of acceptance, while he watched the colourful memories swim merrily around him in her sea of serenity.

*'*'*'*'*'*

"I did it!" Hermione exclaimed happily, when he finally rose from her mind. She was elated and filled with the heady feeling of accomplishment. She had mastered Occlumency! If it were not for her consideration for him, she might have danced around in circles out of sheer happiness.

Severus, leaning back against his desk with his arms folded in front of his chest, looked at her flushed cheeks and her bright smile and wondered if it was her success that made her so blatantly happy, or if she, too, was flying high due to the closeness, the harmony and the feeling of unity they had just shared.

He himself felt most peculiar. What had just happened had been so alien and out of his realm of experience that he didn't quite know what to make of it. He also felt oddly refreshed – as if he had just taken a restful nap. He could only suspect that the comfort, the acceptance, the serenity he had just been bathed in had, for the first time in a long while, made him utterly relax. And 'relaxed' was not a state that his mind or body were familiar with.

Once more grateful for his ability to compartmentalise, he shoved the strange placidness that still filled him behind his own mental walls and slipped into the familiar teacher mode when he acknowledged her accomplishment.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger!" he said in the same voice he might have used if Longbottom had surprisingly produced a usable potion. "You may quite rightly call yourself an Occlumens." Realising that his tone was a bit off considering who he was talking to, he ruefully added on a more teasing note and with a barely visible smirk: "And an overachiever!"

Given his indisputable authority in the field, Hermione knew that it was a compliment of the highest order. Now that she understood how this complicated man's mind worked, his tone or his brusqueness rarely fazed her. After this incredible, wonderful, indescribable experience they had just shared, falling back into familiar tones and familiar patterns of behaviour was just another shielding technique. Nearness, especially emotional nearness, still unsettled him deeply. She blamed it on his childhood. He had probably not been held, touched and embraced enough, and didn't know how to process the feelings it evoked. As an adult, he had always been distant, aloof, self-sufficient. Most likely, she was the first person he had ever let in.

And having him in her mind like this had been... not like sex, as he had once thought it might be, but more like the cuddling that came after. Emotional and physical nearness rolled into one. No wonder he was in a complete tizzy. He had probably never cuddled with anyone, either.

It had been an indescribable feeling. She could still felt his nearness in those untouchable places inside her mind where he had been, very much like his voice often lingered in her ear even after he had stopped talking. Or the scent of him that she could smell for a while after leaving the dungeons. She already knew that she wanted to repeat the experience, however small the likelihood of him letting it happen again was.

"Thank you!" she said, smiling softly at him. "For teaching me. I know that it wasn't easy for you, and I appreciate all the more that you still did it." She might save him the awkwardness of having to find words in particularly emotional moments, but she wouldn't refrain from thanking him when thanks were due. He would just have to get used to accepting them.

"You're welcome," he replied after just a very brief moment of hesitation. There. He was already getting better at it.

"Can we have some tea now?" Hermione asked, taking mercy on him. If he needed normalcy to find his equilibrium again, their familiar tea ritual would probably serve to restore it. "Although, in all honesty, the occasion even merits a Firewhisky..."

"You wish!" he said, shooting her an admonishing glance.

In truth, she didn't. It wasn't his no-alcohol-for-students policy that gave her trouble, but the no-touching-or-kissing-the-teacher rule. She heaved a deep sigh. Oh well. Only three more months.

"Shouldn't you rather go to bed?" Severus asked. "It's late." He was still monitoring her sleeping and eating patterns closely. She often forgot that fodder for thoughts didn't nourish her body, and that relaxing with a book in the quiet of his office didn't make up for a good night's rest.

"I will," Hermione assured. "After I have had a cup of tea."

It was often like that. If he didn't throw her out at some point, she would probably fall asleep on his sofa again. But what had been barely acceptable then was unthinkable now. The problem was, he had really gotten used to her company. Strangely, it was awfully quiet every time after she left, and it wasn't because she chatted endlessly if given the opportunity, as he had feared. He had been pleased to find that she was usually just as focused as he when immersed in her studies. But just to hear her breathing and turning the pages was oddly soothing, and he missed it when she was gone.

Not eager to have her leave, he complied and tapped his teapot, wondering again what kind of magic she wove that made it almost impossible for him to say 'no' to her. It would probably be a good thing if he got to assert his authority at least in the bedroom.

"Aren't your friends wondering by now why you spend almost all your evenings in the dungeons?" He asked, sitting down behind his desk.

Hermione shrugged. "I think Harry suspects why, but is too shy to ask. Ron still believes I'm in the library all the time. He's too busy snogging Lavender to wonder about my whereabouts. It's really like fourth year all over again. And Draco, although he has no means to know whether I'm in Gryffindor tower or not, knows."

"You told him?" He was surprised that she would take her former enemy into confidence, of all people.

"No, I didn't tell anybody anything. He figured it out around Christmas and has been making remarks laced with insinuation and innuendos ever since. I'm a bit surprised that nobody has caught on yet."

"You're the only one who speaks enough Slytherin to understand," he smirked. "Draco probably knows that, too. He wouldn't want for us to get into trouble."

"He couldn't, anyway," Hermione sighted wistfully. "Thanks to you, I can tell anybody who asks the truth: That I'm spending my evenings with you brewing, helping you with your research, correcting essays or studying for my NEWTs. My thoughts and my heart are entirely mine. The only one who really knows that there's more to it is Luna. But then, she probably already knows how many kids we're going to have and what houses they'll be in."

Severus looked at her dumbfounded, marvelling at the outlandish idea and at how matter-of-factly Hermione contemplated it. Then he shook his head, deciding not to take it seriously. "She can't know that," he responded in the same dry and serious tone. "The only species that can supply reliable information about the future are the Long-nosed Whizzwurs, and they can only be found in the northern hemisphere in centuries with an even number."

Hermione laughed. "Oh good! So they're in Australia right now? I should try and find them when I next visit my parents."

"Unfortunately, they only talk to sheep, but if you disguise properly... they are easily fooled."

"I'm not going to ask how you know!" Hermione grinned, then picked up on her own prompt. "Speaking about family visits: You've not yet told me about your visit to Prince House last weekend."

His first get-together with his aunt over the holidays had played out surprisingly well. Judging by his portrayal, Honoria Prince was a quite formidable woman – reserved and a bit stiff, but honest and honourable. From the way he had described her, she had actually sounded a bit like Minerva.

"There isn't much to tell," Severus obliged her. "We had dinner. We talked. Or rather, she grilled me mercilessly again, but was commendably subtle about it. The old lady is a Slytherin to the core."

"And were you able to give her satisfactory answers?"

He smirked. "Well, let's say I was very subtle about them."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That really sounds like a pleasant evening... Both of you beating around the bush, trying to interpret ambiguous answers and figuring out hidden motives – and all that just to find out if the other fulfils the requirements of an 'acknowledged relative'. I had hoped that this time, it would be a little less stilted."

He scoffed. "What did you expect? Animated chatting, jesting and us pouring our hearts out?" he asked back. "We were polite and respectful to each other, and all possible regrets or apologies were delicately hinted at rather than expressed. We are Slytherins, not bloody Gryffindors."

Hermione grinned. If he brought house unity into play and sided with his aunt against 'bloody Gryffindors', he must like Madam Prince rather well. "Does that mean that you're letting yourself be adopted into the family?"

"There is no pressing need to do so while my aunt lives," he said indifferently. "She has given me the testament of my uncle. I can present it to the ministry any time. The house will fall to me as soon as I choose to sign the papers that officially make me a Prince."

Hermione shook her head. "Sometimes, the magical world is disappointingly profane. Signing the papers will make you a Prince? In fairy tales, you have to be thrown against a wall or at least be kissed by a beautiful girl to be turned from a frog or a beast into a prince."

He shrugged: "Well, I wasn't thrown against a wall and I have never been a frog, but other than that, I obviously qualify."

Hermione needed two seconds to decipher the backhanded compliment. "Did you just admit that you were a beast at times and say that you think me beautiful?" she asked, blinking.

"No. I certainly did _not_ _say_ either."

"Well, as we ascertained, I do speak a little Slytherin, and I really believe you did. Shall we get the magic quill out to test my theory?"

He eyed her warily when she got up, wondering what she was up to. "We'll not be testing any more theories today!" he said firmly, pushing back his chair and raising as well – just in case. "But if you insist, I concede that you are definitely not a sore to the eye. There. Satisfied?"

"Far from it," she said cheekily. "But I'm very pleased to find that you're a closet romantic... We'll just have to work on making you a bit more Gryffindor about it. How about trying that again?"

He scowled. "Definitely not."

"My self esteem needs it." It wasn't really a lie. She hadn't gotten many compliments about her appearance. And while she didn't consider herself a sore to the eye either, she wouldn't call herself beautiful.

"You're an intelligent enough witch. You don't need compliments to know what effect you have on me."

"I could try to find out..."

"Hermione!" He cast her a stern gaze and made a subtle move backwards when she approached him.

"Please?" Just hearing him say 'I think you're pretty' would be enough. Every girl needed compliments every once in a while. Especially bookworms who only ever got praised for their brains. What did he see, when he looked at her?

"Honestly, witch, you're the death of me!" he sighed, then locked his gaze with hers and added softly: "Of course I think you're beautiful. That insane hair of yours has fire and spirit and radiates with the power of your magic. And yet you're so small and petite that it makes me want to wrap you up in something soft and keep you close by so that you can never come to harm again. Your eyes have all the innocence, purity and honesty of a child and yet they hold such understanding, maturity and wisdom that I still can't decide whether they are young or old. Your body, however, is clearly that of a woman – so strong, soft and yielding whenever I held you against me. And your smile simply lights up the room, even here in the dungeons. It's bedazzling, and when you bestow it on me, it always takes my breath away."

"Severus..." she breathed, utterly smitten. "That's the sweetest thing anybody has ever said to me. You definitely don't have to work on giving compliments. That was wonderful! I would kiss you right now if that wasn't strictly off-limits..." Another step had her standing right in front of him, smiling up at him with eyes that looked slightly misty.

"It is!" he confirmed, scowling again. "Behave yourself!"

"Only three more months and I'll be free to misbehave and kiss you as much as I like..." she said, rising to her toes and placing a light kiss on his cheek. "By then, I'll have eight months to make up for – so you'd better prepare for lots of hugs and real kisses, Severus!"

And with that audacious announcement, she grabbed her bag from his desk and left his office.

* * *

 _A/N: Again, I'm not sure if the next chapter will be ready by next weekend. The remaining chapters are relatively new, and I feel they are still in need of some editing. :)_


	20. Future Plans

Summary of Chapter 19 – Sea of Serenity

Hermione finally manages to successfully occlude. The experience of having Severus in her mind is a very emotional one this time. Afterwards, Severus and Hermione have a cup of tea and talk about her friends and his second visit to Prince House.

* * *

 **Future Plans**

The next two months passed agonisingly slowly. Hermione felt torn about the approaching end of the school year. On the one hand, she could hardly wait for the day their student-teacher relationship would end and they'd finally be allowed to act on their feelings. On the other hand, she was deeply unsettled by the sad fact she still had no clue what to do with her life, and the uncertainty about her future was beginning to weigh heavily on her mind.

Concerned that her frequent visits to the dungeon would start rumours that could not easily be explained away with her brewing for the hospital wing, Severus had cut down on them a bit, though Hermione strongly suspected that this reasoning was only half of the truth. Their alone-time was hardly bearable at times. They were more and more comfortable around each other, whether they were brewing, discussing academic topics or simply sitting together reading or studying. But this growing familiarity and nearness also heightened the sexual tension between them, making it increasingly difficult to maintain their distance.

Lately, Hermione had become hyper-aware of his presence. She found her eyes glued to his lips whenever he was speaking - only that her focus was more on the nice shape of his cupid's bow than on what he was saying. When he divested himself of his frock coat and rolled up his sleeves because of the heat beneath the cauldrons, her gaze was drawn to his forearms, which were so different from hers and so distinctively masculine with the rippling muscles, the outlines of veins and the dusting of hair. And she still hadn't lost her fascination with his hands. Whenever he was preparing ingredients, she appreciatively noted how well-groomed they were, and how sure and skilled they moved. He usually shot her an admonishing glance whenever he caught her ogling him, but thought it wiser not to comment.

Only once had he lost control of himself, when they had both accidentally blocked each other's way in the small arch connecting his lab with his office. Instead of moving away to let him pass, she had stepped closer after having caught his scent, drawn to him like a bee to honey.

"What are you doing, Miss Granger?" he had asked with a dark voice, the formal address an indicator of his level of alarm and a firm reminder that she was to keep her distance. Only that it somehow tended to have the opposite effect on her nowadays.

"I can't help it..." she had muttered helplessly, leaning in until her nose was almost touching his collarbone and inhaling deeply. "You smell so good..."

"Hermione..." he had groaned, adding that touch of intimacy that came with softly speaking her first name. It always carried an affectionate and longing undertone that undid her just as much as the supposedly stern 'Miss Granger'. She knew she should have backed off right then, but hadn't found the strength to do so, forcing him into action. He had grabbed her arms and spun her around so she was standing against the side wall of the arch, and had drawn himself up to his full height.

His body language was meant to be intimidating, and obediently her heart had picked up a beat. Other than that, their bodies hadn't cared much for their moral convictions and miserable attempts at making them comply. They just reached out for one another, seemingly of their own accord – it was the only explanation as to why they had suddenly found themselves pressed against each other. Honestly, it couldn't have been her fault – after all, she had been the one with the wall at her back.

Both had gasped at the sensation when his lower body found a very comfortable space in the junction of her thighs, and all of a sudden, it had become much too warm in the dungeons. He hadn't been breathing, either, but she had been able to feel his heart drumming rapidly against her chest, and well... other, delicious proof of his undeniable arousal as well. It had taken all of her willpower, Occlumency and determination not to start rubbing herself against him, purring like a cat. The brief moment had seemed to last an eternity, but eventually, he had been the one to get a grip of himself again and back off.

Neither had talked about the incident again, but his decision to cut down on her visits had come shortly after. Hermione felt divided about that as well. She wanted to kiss him, hug him and touch him, be closer than she was allowed to right now, but while painting it out in her mind was inspiring, the prospect to have it actually happen in the near future was quite daunting.

In all honesty, all things post-graduate seemed daunting – Hermione couldn't really picture anything that came after graduation day. It seemed like a point where time simply ended. It was not even a lack of drive or a strange kind of lethargy that prevented her from even thinking about it. She did think about it, quite frequently, in fact. She just had no idea whatsoever what to do with her life, what career to pursue.

Desperate, Hermione had even toyed with the idea of asking Severus about an apprenticeship – if only because it seemed like the comfortable, easy thing to do. She'd remain at Hogwarts with him and could continue to help with his research – provided he'd stay here as professor at all. She didn't even know if that was going to happen. The last time they had talked about it, he had been undecided, saying that this year had been for him what it had been for her: a much needed reprieve; time to sort out options and find closure.

Hermione strongly suspected that he wanted her to make her decisions for herself, and not based on him, and knew it was the right thing to do. She couldn't use him as crutch – she had to be able to stand on her own two feet before fully committing to him. And while Hermione found potions interesting and would probably succeed in becoming a potions mistress if she set her mind to it, it wasn't really what she wanted. Her approach to learning had always been intellectual and theoretical, not hands-on and experimental, like Severus' and Lily's when it came to Potions.

An apprenticeship seemed like the wrong way to go about their future relationship, too. It was too much like the student-teacher relationship that held them entrapped now, and this wasn't a good basis for a partnership, especially not given his natural dominance and her desire to submit to it – at least in some aspects of their relationship. Add the fact that she was stubborn and bossy quite often, and she'd surely get herself into trouble if he remained in a position of authority over her. While she thought she could easily separate how she might act in the bedroom from how she would act around him whenever they were not, it seemed much more difficult to separate his authority over her in a working environment from the partnership she envisioned for their private lives. It was likely that they would discuss work related books and articles on potion theory even in their free time, which also incurred the risk of them ending up in their own private bubble with little outside input.

If only she could decide which area sparked her interest most! She liked Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Charms just as much as Potions. But she had no idea what do to with those interests. She had spoken to the Headmistress about possible career plans, but the only thing Professor McGonagall had been able to think of in terms of an academic profession was that of a teacher. But Hermione didn't want to teach – she wanted to learn. But how could learning be a profession?

Become a librarian? Sure, Hermione had spent a lot of time in the library, but a librarian's job was to keep the books in order, not to read them. Ruling out shopkeeping, magical crafts, and healing professions, that only left administration or law enforcement, which basically meant working for the ministry. But Hermione was not suited for the Aurory, and an office job sounded wrong, too. While she liked approaching things methodically, she was no bureaucrat. Hermione felt absolutely clueless, and not having a plan, not even an inkling of an idea, was unsettling. And slowly, time was running out – there were only a couple of weeks left until graduation.

An altogether unexpected solution and the answer to all her silent wishes presented itself to her on a Saturday morning in early May, when the Headmistress surprisingly asked Hermione into her office. Two hours later, she left it in a complete tizzy. Totally overwhelmed and awed by the possibilities suddenly laid out before her, she walked through the corridors almost as if sleepwalking. Her feet carried her to the dungeon all by themselves, as if knowing that she would wish to share the news with the person that mattered most.

Severus had been working on one of his experimental potions when Hermione entered the lab without warning. "I know what I'm going to do after graduation," Hermione blurted upon entering, vibrating with excited energy. Fortunately, his potion hadn't been at a critical point, and he was able to put it under stasis before giving her his attention. There was a slightly dazed expression in her eyes when she hopped onto the empty work table next to him, sitting on the edge and giddily wiggling her legs. "I'm so excited!"

"Yes, I can see that," he remarked, wondering what had brought the sudden inspiration about and what it could be that it had her in such a state. Although they were barely six weeks away from the end of term, she had avoided any discussion of future plans and had seemed near-panicky whenever the topic had threatened to come up. He had been careful to avoid it, not wanting to push her as she was obviously still feeling unable to make a decision. But admittedly, he had started to get a little concerned. "Well, I guess the arc of suspense stands. Will you tell me what happened?"

"Minerva called me to her office this morning. Turns out I had visitors from the ministry. They offered me a job."

That made him raise his brows even higher in wonderment. Such a thing was unheard of. True, Hermione was doubtlessly one of the most talented witches that had ever graduated from Hogwarts, but the ministry didn't go head-hunting. What surprised him even more was the fact that she would even consider working for the ministry after all the previous experiences she and her friends had had involving the institution. True, a lot had changed for the better after the war, and with Shacklebolt, the wizarding world had a minister for once who was actually quite competent, not corrupt and no one's puppet. But the ministry was still run by bureaucrats like Percy Weasley, and no matter how bookish and rule-abiding Hermione was, it was hardly a place for people with revolutionary ideas who called everything into question.

"So what's it going to be, then?" he asked. "The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" It was the only thing that seemed to make some sense. Maybe she was hoping to change the world from behind an office desk?

"No," she said, smiling brightly. "The Department of Mysteries! I'm going to be an Unspeakable."

He could only stare at her and blink. Well, that was indeed a surprise. It explained why she seemed overwhelmed herself.

"Oh, Severus – it sounds like everything I ever wanted," she exclaimed, elation making it through the daze of agitated befuddlement. "Almost too good to be true. Their field of work covers all areas of magic, from Charms to Potions, from Ancient Runes to Arithmancy, from Transfiguration to History of Magic. That's why they need people who have a vast area of knowledge and are interested in all kinds of subjects. Unspeakables do a lot of research and independent project work, which is exactly what I like doing best! They made me take an oath of secrecy not to reveal details of their work, so I cannot tell you much more, but I guess it would be hard to explain even if I was free to do so – it all sounds utterly mystifying, but incredibly fascinating!"

In fact, the job they had described had sounded a lot like basic research as done in muggle universities – except that there seemed to be no divisions in different branches of science. The Unspeakables were doing research into everything – ancient or lost branches of magic, old artefacts, aspects of space and time, the mysteries of death or the stream of thought and consciousness and related subjects. They had been very impressed to hear that Hermione knew Occlumency, as that and Legilimency were disciplines they explored. Their work was purely theoretical in most areas, but promising findings, ideas and observations were passed on to other departments as bases for work projects that brought forth new spells or magical inventions, or from which concepts were developed that were incorporated in laws and legislation.

"Unspeakables help finding solutions to specific problems, but they are also doing their own, independent research. The result of their work is given to the department concerned or to the Minister himself and serves as input and a basis for their decisions."

Severus said nothing, but raised a doubtful eyebrow at this. In the light of the Ministry's course of action in past years one could only conclude that the Unspeakables' research hadn't yielded noteworthy results, or that Ministers of the past had chosen to ignore valuable findings.

"Well, I daresay that sounds pretty much like what you've been doing for the last seven years: Learning, reading, gathering facts and giving substantiated advice to others based on the knowledge you've gained only to be ignored..."

She grinned. "The same could also be said about you. It's probably the way of the world. Who knows – I might get a chance to research that phenomenon and find out how to affect it."

"So I take it you accepted the offer?"

"Yes, of course! It was exactly the opportunity I had been looking for but didn't know existed. I was never able to decide in which field I wanted to work – all the subjects are so interesting..."

"Yes, I remember!" he said drily. "You tried to take on more classes than there were hours of the day because of that, which resulted in you being given a time-turner... It probably brought you to the Department of Mystery's attention right then."

She blushed. "I've been on their list of potential recruits ever since. I'm just amazed they didn't scratch my name after the debacle with the prophesy in my fifth year."

"Indeed. One would think that partly destroying your future work place in just one evening would make them reconsider inviting the one responsible to come by on a regular basis."

Hermione shrugged. "Apparently, they don't bear grudges."

"So when exactly are you going to start?"

"I want to go to Australia first and visit my parents for a few weeks. That means I'll probably start in August." She hesitated before adding: "I think I'll ask Harry if I can move in with him and Draco at Grimmauld Place for a start."

It seemed like the ideal solution – she couldn't really imagine not having Harry by her side after all these years. She had been a bit surprised at first to hear that Draco was going to move in with him, as he had the entire family manor at his disposal. But he had said that the place was haunted with too many bad memories, and she had understood only too well. Malfoy Manor had housed a bloodthirsty tyrant for almost a year and had seen torture, murder and other depravities. No wonder he wanted to leave everything that reminded him of that part of his life behind.

Grimmauld Place was big enough to accommodate them all, and Hermione was sure that Harry and Draco would welcome her with open arms. Would Severus mind? She had no idea what his plans were regarding them. Surely not moving in together. She was not like Lavender or one of the many other witches who looked forward to getting married and settled as soon as they were out of Hogwarts. She wanted to broaden her mind, learn things that went beyond what Hogwarts could teach them And now she was getting the chance of doing exactly that!

But she also wanted to share all her new experiences with Severus – and experience new things with him. How would that work out, if she lived with Harry, and he stayed at Hogwarts? Provided he intended to stay at Hogwarts at all.

"An excellent idea," he commended, sounding pleased. Secretly, he was relieved. He had feared that Hermione would want to live in her own apartment, as many witches nowadays were wont to do. But there were still a few renegade Death Eaters out there, and he was a bit paranoid as far as her safety was concerned. Grimmauld Place was still under the Fidelius charm and Harry would doubtlessly watch out for Hermione.

"What about you?" she inquired, hoping that he would be willing to discuss his own plans, if he no longer had to fear they might influence her own decision. "Are you going to stay at Hogwarts?"

He smirked. "I told Minerva I'd be willing to prolong my contract – provided she agreed to my conditions."

Oh, that sounded interesting... "What conditions did you stipulate?"

"I heeded the advice given to me by a certain insufferable know-it-all a few months ago: That I'll only teach N.E.W.T level Potions and D.A.D.A, so that I'll have ample time for my private research. And that I don't have to stay in the castle on weekends or free days."

Hermione flashed him a full-teeth smile. "Excellent! How did Minerva take it?"

"She was flabbergasted..." Severus smirked at the memory of the badly hidden curiosity written in her face - most of all about the mystery as to what he intended to do with his free days, given that he had never left the castle voluntarily in the last decade. But she hadn't dared raise the question. Hermione was the only one who was never too shy to ask him anything she wanted to know. And for reasons he didn't care to contemplate, he usually indulged her with answers.

"She told me that I couldn't be Head of House if I planned to stay away from the castle on weekends, probably thinking it would make me reconsider."

"I daresay it didn't..."

"Absolutely not. I've been Head of Slytherin for long enough, with everything it entails: Showing favouritism, wearing green for Quidditch matches, settling disputes, wiping noses and giving teenagers the birds and bees talk."

"Oh – you really did that?" Hermione couldn't really imagine it.

His smirk widened. "No, I delegated. I sent the girls to Madam Pomfrey, handed out copies of muggle brochures on the topic to the boys and made sure that the contraceptive potion was on the Potions syllabus. And of course, I told them they could always come and see me if they had any question. Funnily enough, nobody ever turned up."

"Yes, that's really funny, isn't it? But do you know what's even funnier? Professor McGonagall did almost exactly the same thing with us."

"No, she didn't!" Severus' smug expression fell. He now looked as if he had been cheated.

"Oh yes, she did!" Hermione assured him, laughing. "And you probably thought yourself so clever! Makes me wonder what Professor Trelawny does, nowadays... Can you imagine her explaining the facts of life to a bunch of hormonal teenagers?"

His brows furrowed in dismay. "Don't mention Sybil and anything sex-related in the same sentence," he ordered, emphasising every word in his unique way. "I'm still desperately trying to forget that one Christmas when she had imbibed too much and came on to me in a rather forceful manner. That woman has more arms than the Giant Squid... she hides them well beneath all those shawls."

"Seriously? Professor Trelawny made a pass at you?" Hermione giggled. "I wish I had seen that... Did you hex her?"

"Believe me, it wasn't funny," he growled. "I don't know if it was due to her spiritual gift or the bottles of spirit she was gifted with for Christmas, but she had no shields around her mind at all at that point and projected her desire strongly and clearly. So yes, I did hex her. With a minor Confundus charm. If it wasn't so dangerous, I'd also have obliviated myself. I really didn't need those pictures in my head."

"Did you feel the urge to obliviate yourself after seeing the pictures in my head?" Hermione asked coyly. She really shouldn't bring those up, because now that he knew and had hinted that they needn't remain a fantasy, they had become even more powerful. But frankly, she had a hard time getting them out of her mind, too.

His expression changed, and he stepped in front of her. All of a sudden, there was this heat in his gaze again that she had seen before, and which always kindled a fire inside her. "Not for a minute, because I liked those pictures," he murmured, using that especially silky baritone that always made her brain melt. "I'll keep them for myself even after you've run off with a nice, fetching young man while I'm sitting in my cold and lonely dungeon again."

"I don't want a man who's 'nice', nor will I ever," she vowed, grateful that her faculty of speech was still functioning for the moment. "Nice is boring. I don't want him to be young, either, as we've already established. I want you. Because you're fetching, and brilliant and courageous and so much more..."

Severus couldn't tell if the glance she threw him from beneath her half-lowered lashes was demure or downright seductive, when she softly added: "And I promise that once this school year is over, you definitely won't be found sitting cold and lonely in the dungeon... I'll be here with you, and if you want to, I'll let you see all the pictures you care to see..."

He took a sharp breath. She didn't have squid-arms and wasn't even touching him, and yet he was captured and entangled. He couldn't believe that she had become so bold with him as to purposely provoke and entice him!

"Listen to me, you cheeky witch..." he finally managed, putting a finger underneath her chin and tilting her head back. For a brief moment, she thought – hoped – that he was going to kiss her, but he only locked his gaze with hers. "In about six weeks you are very welcome to approach me with all the wicked ideas and fantasies you have in your mind. I'll gladly watch them with you, I'll explore them with you, and I will even play them out with you – whatever you wish."

She swallowed, marvelling a how quickly he had turned the tables on her. No, he was not some boy she could tease – he was much better at this game that she'd ever be. Who would have guessed that the man everybody thought to be unpleasant, unfeeling and cold could – with just a few calculated words and by looking at her in such a way – elicit such warmth and such pleasure in her?

"For the moment, however," he continued with his deep, melliferous baritone, "we cannot allow ourselves to dwell on them. Until graduation, Miss Granger, you're on orders to behave, and I trust that you will obey to the rules. Surely you do not want me to take further measures to assure your compliance..."

She looked at him with pupils that were much too wide and a pulse that was beating too fast. Among other things, his conscience stirred in response, demanding to know what the hell had gotten into him. Severus told it to shut up. Of course, with mentioning 'further measures' he had simply meant cutting down on their alone time even more – he certainly hadn't implied anything else. The expression in her eyes, however, revealed that her over-creative mind had come up with entirely different scenarios and that she was pondering with fascination what he might to if she failed to obey. He groaned internally. What had they started? And how could an exchange of just a few words affect them both so much? They were constantly walking a very thin line, and he mustn't let himself be carried away by playing games with her when they should be treading carefully.

He took a step away from her, leaned back against the other table and folded his arms in front of his chest. To give her credit, she also got a grip of herself astonishingly quickly again. Maybe she was using her Occlumency skills much in the same way he did.

"You're right," she finally said, taking a deep breath. "We shouldn't keep goading each other like this. It's rather frustrating as it never leads to anything. I'll stop, if you do."

He raised his brow. "I didn't do anything."

She snorted. "Yes, you did! Stop using that voice on me and don't give me that look... you know which one! Don't step close and don't say things that you very well know will affect me."

He gave a slight incline of his head in acknowledgement. "Very well. But I expect the same from you." The 'or else' look he gave was almost an invitation to continue their dalliance, and it was hard to tell if he was aware of that or not.

In truth, Hermione enjoyed flirting with him. She had practically no experience in the field, and found it thrilling to test feminine wiles she hadn't known she possessed. The fact that it was perfectly safe to do so only added to the allure. She knew he wouldn't let anything happen at this point, no matter how much they teased each other. But it was pretty frustrating, and sometimes she thought she was going explode from all the pent-up sexual tension. Shoving it all firmly into a chest and dropping it into her Occlumency-lake, Hermione focused back on the point in their discussion where they had lost track of it.

Professor McGonagall ... his position. Yes, that's what they had been discussing. "So – what did the Headmistress say to your proposition of dividing the positions?" she asked and smirked when she saw that he needed a moment to gather his thoughts as well.

"Well, it's unprecedented," he said, clearing his throat, "and you know how open-minded wizards are to anything that has never been done before. But in the end, she couldn't do anything but agree. I had the better bargaining chips. She'll not find a substitute potions teacher for N.E.W.T level classes easily, and there is also Lupin's condition to consider. I offered to find her a suitable candidate for the lower Potion classes. Horace has still a lot of contacts – I'll ask him for names and look at potential candidates."

"And you're sure that someone will come up to your standards?"

His face fell a bit at that. "Probably not," he admitted. "But seeing that it's the only option to assure that I get the time to explore my extracurricular interests, I guess I'll have to make do."

Hermione really hoped that one of those extracurricular interests he planned to explore would be her. Thinking about it sent the wheels of her imagination spinning again. "Where will you live when not at Hogwarts?" she asked, hoping that he still had a place of his own. Otherwise any kind of exploring would be a bit difficult to do. "In the house you grew up – Spinner's End?"

"Dear Merlin, no!" He shook his head in disgust. "I never wanted to live in that run-down place, especially not after the Dark Lord made Wormtail stay there with me last year. I sold the house to a redevelopment company as soon as I was able to hold a quill after my recuperation. I believe they have torn down the entire neighbourhood in the meanwhile."

"So where will you stay?"

"It appears that the east wing of Prince House is at my disposal."

"The East Wing?" Hermione echoed, visions of Versailles flashing before her inner eye.

"It sounds grander and more impressive than it actually is," he toned down. "The manor is rather modest as British country estates go, a two-storey, Elizabethan style. Compared to Malfoy Manor, it's just a big house, but the Weasleys would all fit into it nicely. Still, the two house-elves in my aunt's service do not have to run themselves ragged to keep it in order. What Noria calls 'the east wing' consists of two bedrooms, one of which is currently a study, a bath and a livingroom."

"Noria?"

"Short for Honoria. It's what she bade me call her. She doesn't like her name much, saying it sounds stiff and old-fashioned."

Well, she had sounded a bit stiff and old-fashioned from the way Severus had described her. "I'm surprised you're actually considering moving in with your aunt..."

He raised his brow. "When presented with the choice of having dinner at the staff table in the Great Hall with hundreds of untamed barbarians and deafening background noises, or in the dining room of a quiet country estate with a well-mannered and civilised landlady? No, I didn't really have to think long before choosing the latter. It's a rumour that I like living in the dungeons – the only good thing about it is my lab and the quiet. In fact, I demanded others quarters, too, when I gave Minerva my conditions. Lupin hardly needs his – he floos home to be with his son every evening – which is why he couldn't be Gryffindor's Head of House, at least not officially. Let the new Potions teacher have the dungeon quarters."

"What about your personal lab?"

"I'm optimistic that I can get the castle to magically connect it to my new quarters."

"But they're on the second floor and in a different wing... how is that supposed to work?"

"If a passage is needed, the castle usually provides it. There are many secret passages that defy logic within these walls, most of them connecting the hospital wing and the Headmaster's Office to every part of the castle. They work in emergencies or for those who are entitled. Everybody else will only step into a broom closet." He grinned smugly. "And as I still have full headmaster's powers and thus count as entitled, I guess connecting my lab to my new office shouldn't be a problem at all."

"Lupin's office is much nicer," Hermione agreed, liking the idea of him getting more sunshine. "But your collection of atrocities in jars won't be half as scary in bright daylight."

His shrugged. "I'm a wizard. I'll just charm the windows to automatically darken whenever a student sets foot into my office. Easy."

With all he had obviously taken into consideration, Hermione wondered if he had also thought about how their living arrangements could accommodate a relationship. "Will I be able to visit you at Hogwarts?" she asked, wondering what the policy regarding teachers having over-night guests was. "Or will you come to Grimmauld Place? How will it work out between your job and mine, you living with your aunt and me with Harry?"

"I'm not going to be 'living with my aunt'," he clarified, sounding slightly peeved. "We will just share the house, and, whenever we feel like it, the meals. It's beautifully quiet at Prince House, it has a great view of the garden and the fields behind it. And, of course, there is the library... You'll be dancing in circles when you see it. I know where Irma got her love of books from. It's not that I'm used to luxury, but I gladly indulge in it if it is offered to me on a silver platter."

"When I see it?" Hermione asked, wondering if he meant what his statement had implied.

"Well, when my aunt offered me half of the house, it was understood that we would respect each other's privacy, and that included having the freedom of inviting whomever I pleased to my quarters."

"Female company?"

"Hermione – I'm an adult man. Of course she'd expect me to have female company. The wizarding world might be Victorian in many respects, but not quite as backward and prudish as to condemn relationships between unmarried adults."

"But what will your aunt say if she learns that you have hooked up with a Muggle-born ex-student of yours?" Hermione asked a bit worriedly.

"It would be sheer hypocrisy if she minded. Neither her family nor the Princes are one of those 28 true Pure-blood families of Britain, and while she's certainly a traditionalist, she was never a supporter of the Pure-blood ideology. Besides, it'd be next to impossible for me to find a woman who hasn't been my student at some point, unless she was my age and still single – which is rather unlikely in wizarding society. For a witch to be single when over 30, she'd have to be an ugly spinster or a most unfortunate widow whose husband succumbed to an early death, as divorce is practically unheard of among wizards."

"So that means you're basically stuck with me and she will have to put up with it..." Hermione concluded, sounding quite pleased with his lack of options.

"Well, I've been stuck with you for seven long years, I'm kind of used to it by now." He turned serious and added: "But know this: My aunt will never be allowed to merely 'put up' with you. If she doesn't welcome you into her house with open arms, I'll simply leave and get my own place. Or kick her out, I don't know. But it won't come to that. I have a feeling that the two of you will get on perfectly fine. It's me that will have to watch out – with three rather bossy females in my life all of a sudden. And that's not even counting Minerva."

Hermione smiled. She'd rather not tell him about the dream Luna had shared with her a few nights ago, or he might start running yet. One could only hope for him that Luna wasn't gifted with more than an astonishing perceptiveness. Although Hermione certainly wouldn't mind if she was...

In any case, the future looked bright and held a lot of promise again...


	21. What Happens on Graduation Day

Summary of Chapter 20 – Future Plans

Two months before graduation, Hermione is getting worried as she still has no idea what career to choose; that is, until two ministry employees from the Department of Mysteries come head-hunting at Hogwarts and offer her a job as an Unspeakable. Hermione happily accepts. While she makes plans to move into Grimmauld Place with Harry, Severus has been offered to make himself at home at Prince House.

* * *

 **What Happens on Graduation Day**

Bright moonlight fell through the giant trees on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, deepening the shadows and bathing the grey, stony ground Hermione and Severus were walking on in silvery light. Although they were nowhere near the dangerous parts of the forest, Hermione tried to stay close to the dark clad wizard who was leading the way. Conditions were ideal for collecting Moon Dew Flowers, which only bloomed around this time of the year and only under a full moon like tonight.

Severus seemed to know exactly where to go – and he also seemed to have night vision, as his stride was confident and unworried. Hermione was having trouble keeping up with him. The constant change between light and shadow confused her sight and made her steps insecure and hesitant. Besides, his legs were much longer than hers.

"Careful there," Severus chided, when she stumbled over a root that had been practically invisible in the shadow of a huge tree. He reached out just in time to steady her, preventing her from falling.

"I can't see anything," she complained. "And stepping into those dark patches makes me nervous. I feel like I'm stepping into a void each time."

He rolled his eyes. "There are no voids out here. The path is perfectly safe. I want you to see the meadow with the Moon Dew flowers in full bloom. It's quite a sight – you'll like it. Well, come on then, take my hand so I can lead you. Otherwise we might not make it there before sunrise."

Smiling at the unexpected offer, Hermione accepted his outstretched hand. She had known for a long time that students' presumptions that the much disliked Potions Master must surely have cold and clammy hands were utter rubbish. In her fifth year, an unsuspected allergic reaction to otherwise harmless Knarl Quills had demanded his immediate intervention. Cradling her small hand in his larger one, he had quickly cast a healing charm and applied a salve to counteract the reaction of her skin. Hermione hadn't felt any pain. She had been too distracted by the warmth of his touch – and confused to notice that it was anything but revolting.

Of course, he had then chased off all benevolent thoughts by deducting ten points from Gryffindor for the stupidity of touching Knarl Quills when being allergic to them – as if she had known! She now understood that he had just resented being forced into a personal interaction that involved touching, no matter if it had been her fault or not. He really was unapproachable. Except to her.

Now that she was happily walking with her hand in his beneath the starlit sky, their excursion almost felt like a romantic summer night's stroll to her – even more so since he was taking her to see a field of flowers. The thought made her smile. A moonlight walk, hand in hand with her snarky Potions Master. A pity she couldn't tell anyone. Trusting that he would safely steer them around any obstacles, Hermione was quite comfortable and enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

Sadly, it didn't take them long to reach the meadow where the white flowers grew in abundance between ferns and mosses. The sight was truly spectacular. The flowerheads looked like upturned bells and were filled with nectar. The moonlight caught and reflected therein made them sparkle like liquid silver. They both stood in silent appreciation for about a minute, before Severus shattered every semblance of romance by letting go of her hand and setting her to work on collecting the precious moon dew.

Emptying the valuable liquid into the glass vials they had brought proved to be a cumbersome procedure. Fortunately, the flowers tended to grow in dense bushes, so that Hermione was able to sit down right next to one and empty about 30 flowers before she had to move to a new spot.

Severus smirked when he saw her sitting amid the wildflowers. She made for a really quaint picture, but he suspected that he would look rather undignified if he did the same. So instead, he sat down on a boulder and cast a growth-accelerating charm over the nearest Moon Dew flower bushes, making their stems prolong by few inches until they were at a comfortable height for harvesting.

"You're cheating," Hermione accused when she saw what he did, a slight frown on her forehead. "You could have at least told me that that's how it's done."

"It's not a propagated standard procedure, Hermione," he chuckled. "I came up with it myself after I suffered from backache the first time I collected Moon Flower Dew myself. That's the beauty of magic – it allows you to get creative."

They worked amicably side by side, moving from spot to spot, but always staying near each other. Severus found the work peaceful and relaxing, and felt no urge to engage in conversation. Hermione, however, still seemed a bit distracted and kept throwing him furtive glances from beneath her lashes when she thought he wasn't watching. He wouldn't have minded had they been of the kind she often threw him during potions class: Glances full of secret longing and desire. But in the last couple of days, he thought he had detected insecurity and worry in her eyes. It seemed as if she was about to say something, only to cop out at the last moment.

Something was clearly bothering her, and he was wondering about what it could possibly be. Surely not her final exams - those were over and done with, and he knew that they had all gone extremely well for her. She'd probably get all straight 'O's except in DADA. She should be relaxed and enjoying the few remaining days of school – just like the majority of her classmates, who couldn't be bothered with classes or homework anymore, but rather spent their time lazing about at the lake or at the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione, however, seemed even more tense then before her N.E. . So whatever it was that bothered her, it had to do with him. Was she having second thoughts now that graduation was approaching and didn't know how to tell him? It was starting to make him all tense and nervous, too, as he was prone to always suspect the worst.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" he said, when he caught her furtively casting him a sideways glance once more. "You're wearing the same expression that you used to have in Potions class when bursting to ask a question or share a piece of information but were afraid that I would admonish you for it. It's been going on for days now! Whatever is bothering you: Tell me, because worrying about it is driving me insane!"

She blushed. No, Occlumency had not cured her of this particular tell as of yet, and Severus was grateful for the cues it sometimes gave him. But right now, even that wasn't helpful.

"It's stupid, really..." she said sheepishly, lowering her gaze.

"I assure you it won't be the first time I hear something stupid, although it's admittedly rare coming from you. You can safely utter about five ridiculously stupid things before I'll start questioning your intelligence. So – go ahead." He put a stopper into his vial and gave her his full attention.

Hermione looked up, feeling like the proverbial doe in the headlights beneath his inquisitive gaze. She hadn't been sure whether to bring it up at all... There were things you shouldn't be planning and discussing, but simply allowing to come to pass. But maybe if he told her, she'd be able to relax.

"Okay, fine," she sighed, gathering her courage. "Maybe I should have just asked you right away, but I thought I was being ridiculous. It's just that I can't stop thinking about what exactly is going to happen on graduation day, and not knowing what to expect is making me slightly edgy..."

Severus frowned. Not knowing the exact proceedings on graduation day bothered her? This was odd indeed, even for someone as obsessed with planning as she. Was she expecting some kind of big surprise, something that was being kept a secret until the evening had arrived?

"Well, I suspect it will come as a huge disappointment then, but there is no special ceremony for the graduates you have to worry about," he replied, still slightly bemused, but also relieved that it was nothing serious. "There have been ongoing discussions about it – some teachers and students felt that the closure of such an important chapter in young people's lives deserved some kind of acknowledgment. But apart from the logistics, it was argued that it would be unfair to have a celebration for graduates and family if Muggle parents would have to be left out as they can't access Hogwarts. That's why we just have the annual Leaving Feast in the evening for all students."

Hermione's embarrassment at what she really had wanted to know evaporated in the light of this blithe display of ignorance on his part. For a man of his intelligence, he could really be obtuse, sometimes. She could only stare at him as he pulled out an empty vial and started working on his flowers again, while he continued describing what he thought she had asked for: the details of procedures on graduation day.

"As you probably already know, graduates who have passed their apparition tests are not required to take the Hogwarts Express the next morning. They are free to simply disapparate right after the Leaving Feast, if they want to. There is a leaving ritual of sorts, however, that Dumbledore established when he became a teacher – I suspect to prevent students from celebrating in Hogsmeade after the feast and splinching themselves when trying to apparate in a drunken state later."

"Yes, I read about that in 'Hogwarts, a History'," Hermione solicitously put in. She always had the latest edition, and traditions started by Dumbledore were old enough to have made it into it. "Graduates are escorted to the boat house after the Leaving Feast by their Heads of House in order to take the boats across the lake, from where they disapparate when they are beyond the anti-Apparition wards. It's supposed to be a rite of passage that closes the circle: Leaving in the same manner we arrived at Hogwarts so many years ago – by boat."

Severus shook his head, hiding an amused smirk. Of course she had read about it. 'Hogwarts, a History' seemed to be her bible, and it wouldn't surprise him if she knew the entire tome by heart. "I suppose it suited Albus' flair for drama. Of course, it's also good for some amusement, as there's usually at least one dunderhead who forgets to place a stabilising charm on the boat before standing up to disapparate. Some rites of passage always end in the water."

"It won't happen to the boat I'm in," Hermione said with conviction. What an embarrassing way to ruin what she considered a really nice ritual. In fact, she was hoping that this year's graduates would start yet another tradition. Though house unity had never been encouraged in Hogwarts, the war had brought them all together and had made the distinction seem petty. They had all been through so much together, and leaving Hogwarts was a turning point for all of them and deserved some kind of joint recognition. Therefore a few seventh years - most notably Harry, Hermione, Luna and Draco – had put a plan into motion to make this years graduation special.

For the first time ever, there was going to be a celebration for all the seventh year students who were willing to set their house prejudice aside: It was going to take place the night before the official Leaving Feast, at the lake. Draco and Luna, who were good at Charms, had put added extension charms on the tent Hermione had carried around for so long, and given it a slightly oriental look and design.

Severus hadn't been suspicious when Hermione had asked him to return what he had taken into safekeeping so that she could start packing all her belongings. A lot the things in her emergency equipment had come in handy – the cooking utensils and the dishes, for instance. All they had to do was to multiply them. Neville was in charge of organising food and beverages from Aberforth, and Muggle-born students had been tasked with procuring marshmallows to be roasted over campfires at the beach. The wizarding wireless device that had been their only news source while on the run would assure they had musical entertainment as well.

It was unlikely that they'd be able to keep the party a secret from their teachers and the rest of the students, even though they had soundproofed the tent, but that wasn't really their intention anyway. They were, after all, about to start a new tradition.

"Since you're obviously aware of procedures, you just have to know where to apparate to," Severus said, assuming that she and Harry – and probably the Weasleys, too – would get together at Grimmauld Place. Draco planned to go straight to France and visit his parents in exile.

"Well, Harry, Ron, Ginny and I are supposed to go to the Burrow," Hermione said, sounding a bit reluctant. "Molly is planning a party for us." The relationship between Harry and Ginny was still awkward and slightly tense, but no matter what happened, Harry remained an adoptive son to the Weasleys, and to not celebrate the occasion together was unthinkable. Unfortunately, ever since Ron's and Lavender's engagement, the exhausting girl was now part of the gang, too, and would also be there.

"Of course," Severus said drily. "I should have known."

"I could decline," Hermione offered hesitantly. "I mean, I really want to celebrate my graduation with you, and..."

"No, don't!" he interrupted right away. "If Molly is having a party for you, then you should definitely be going to the Burrow with your friends."

"But..."

"No 'but', Hermione," he repeated firmly. "It's your graduation. You've been through thick and thin with those dunderhead friends of yours for seven long years. You defeated trolls, possessed teachers, a basilisk, Death Eaters, Umbridge and the Dark Lord together. That deserves a worthy conclusion. I've been told that closing one chapter of your life is important before starting the next one. Go to the party and enjoy yourself."

"And then what?" Hermione demanded to know. She seemed upset, and again he wondered what he had missed. He had the vague feeling that he had done something wrong, but he was damned if he knew what.

"Am I supposed to come back to Hogwarts after the party, or rather the next day or the next weekend?" she inquired, and her voice had a tinge of desperation now. "You said you wanted to wait until I've graduated for us to be together. So what does this mean? When will I see you again? I don't know what your plans are, and I can't prepare because I'm not sure what exactly will happen. I'm getting a bit nervous about it so I guess I'd really be grateful if you could tell me what your intentions are..."

Severus blinked. "My intentions?" he echoed, a bit dumbfounded. Was she expecting him to propose to her?

"Yes. With regard to the evening and what you expect me to do and... you know..."

It was then that the scales finally fell from his eyes. "Are you, by any chance, asking whether and when we are... going to be intimate?" A look in her eyes confirmed it. Dear Merlin. She still managed take him utterly by surprise. He surely hadn't expected to have this discussion, certainly not sitting in a field of wildflowers beneath the moonlight.

"Hermione... " he said, trying to chose his words carefully. "Just because I said we wouldn't be in a physical relationship while you're still my student, it doesn't mean that I have plans to whisk you into my bed the moment you have finished your last day of school. There's no reason to get nervous – we don't have to do anything yet... let's just take it slow."

"Slow?" she squeaked. Oh no – this was not at all what she had meant to suggest. "We've been taking it slow for eight months! I don't want to go slow anymore! I am all ready - I have been ready for a while now."

If it hadn't been for his remarkable self-control, Hermione was sure that they would long since have ended up in his bedroom. There had been quite a few situations from which such a scenario could have developed quite naturally. But their situation being as it was, she couldn't see how anything was going to develop naturally after graduation day, at least not within a reasonable time-frame. All the windows of opportunity she had envisioned would close within a few days. Although admittedly, most of those hadn't been awfully realistic to begin with... Especially not the racier fantasies that had often started out with detention.

"Do you really want to jump into it like this?" Severus asked doubtfully. "I had imagined a proper courting... You know – going out on dates and such and progressing from there. Isn't that how it's usually done?"

Hermione looked utterly aghast. "Yes, but we're not exactly in the usual kind of relationship," she pointed out, hoping that logic would make him see the absurdity of this notion. "Dating is for getting to know each other better. In involves a lot of talking, telling each other personal things, getting a feel for the other's likes and dislikes. I think we can safely say that we have long gotten past that point. I know all I need to know about you in order to know that you're the one for me."

"My little know-it-all..." he said jestingly, not really knowing what else to say. This was – unexpected.

"Please, Severus," Hermione implored. "We've been dancing around each other for eight months. I'll be going to Australia a week after graduation, and when I'm back, I'll be moving into Grimmauld Place. I want to spent the time until then with you, not waiting for some weekend after all that to go out and have dinner with you. I want to be with you. Don't make me wait any longer."

Listening to her well-made points, Severus felt his resolve slipping away. Here he was, faced with a beautiful young witch who wanted to spent the night with him – a couple of nights, if he understood her correctly, and the days, too, and he could only marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Well, his morality and views on appropriateness only carried so far. She was right. They had long moved passed the phase of courting, in which one tried to present oneself only in the best light. They already knew each other's shadows.

"Very well, then" he said, giving in to his own desires and her wishes. "Go to the Burrow and have fun at the party. If you want to come and see me after that, send me your Patronus so that I can open my floo for you." It would be bending the rules a bit: For security reasons, Hogwarts was not connected to the Floo-network, and only the headmistress had the power to open the connection. Well, she and himself, who the castle still recognised as headmaster for mysterious reasons.

Looking into Hermione's face, he could see that despite her obvious relief, she still wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement. He almost wished he hadn't taught her how to occlude so that he could slip into her mind and find out what was bothering her. He had the nagging suspicion that it might be a woman's thing, and that he stood no chance of finding out unless he was ungraciously blunt and simply asked her.

"Hermione – what's wrong? You're sending all kinds of mixed signals here, and I admit I'm confused. You insist that you don't want to wait and practically beg me not to turn you down, and yet you seem nervous at the same time. I don't understand."

She blushed. " I can hardly blame you... I guess I'm needlessly complicating things again. The thing is: I don't need a courting phase to know that I want you. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna be nervous about really being with you..." She couldn't deny that she felt slightly intimidated at the prospect, due to her lack of self-confidence in that regard and the resulting fear of disappointing him.

She decided to be fully honest with him. So far it had proven to be the best course to sail, and if she wanted him to assuage her worries, he should at least be aware of them. "I'm almost twenty, and I have only ever been with one guy, while you have all the experience of a man your age," she tried to put her worries into words. "As I said – I don't know what your expectations are, and I'm a little anxious that I might not live up to them. I guess I'm scared that you might find me lacking – like Ron did – and that I will disappoint you and you will call this off."

"That I will call this off?" he echoed, incredulous. "'This' meaning you and me, a relationship? What are you thinking, woman? That I spent the last eight months with you just so I could finally get into your knickers? Seriously, Hermione – this is ridiculous. I could never be disappointed in you, surely not in this. It's not a test and I'm not going to mark you. It's impossible to fail, so you might as well stop fretting about it."

"Well, I can't, you know that. I guess I'm still desperate for your approval. I want to do everything right and I just don't know how to go on about it..."

"Please, just promise me that you won't go searching the library for books!" He could just about imagine her doing exactly that... looking for absurd books like '10 Ways to Make Your Wizard Happy', 'Five Positions You Must Have Tried' or 'The Perfect Blowjob – How to do it Right'. At least, those were the kind of headlines he had seen on confiscated issues of 'Witch's Weekly', which Hermione probably hadn't ever subscribed to.

To think that she would work herself into such a state, worrying about pleasing him, being concerned about not meeting his expectations... He had never mattered that much to anybody. That alone was enough to please him beyond what he ever thought was possible. Why did she have so little self-confidence where her female side was concerned? It was quite baffling, especially in light of the fact that he was no adonis, no matter how favourably she might look upon him. Was it because she had been around two boys during her teenage years that had both been oblivious to the fact that she was a girl? Were the male dunderheads in her year really all so dazzled by her intellect that they had failed to see and treat her as a beautiful, desirable witch? How bad could her first experience at sex have been that it had made her so insecure and unsure of herself?

"Hermione – look at me." She did. "You don't have to do or prepare anything," he said firmly. "Haven't we agreed that I will take full responsibility in that department? That you will let me guide you, so you won't have to decide, plan or worry about anything and can just let yourself fall?"

"Yes," she breathed with palatable relief. "That's exactly what I want – to follow your lead. Just tell me what to do, please."

He barely managed not to shake his head in disbelief. She wanted instructions? Well, it wasn't really so surprising with all he had come to know about his little Gryffindor control-freak, who was intimidated by situations that required intuition, passion and instinct. He just hadn't thought they'd start playing these kind of games this early in their relationship. But then – it clearly wasn't a game to her. Having guidelines to follow always put her mind at ease - provided the instructions were sensible.

But what should he instruct her about, exactly? What might a woman in her situation be worrying about? What to wear? Probably a classic. How to do her hair? In her case a definite 'yes'. What to shave and how much, possibly? God, as if he cared about any of that, as long as she was willingly in his arms! No, he was definitely not going to instruct her about that! He might be comfortable with exerting dominance, but this whole situation was just as new for him as it was for her, and he'd be lying if he claimed that didn't make him the tiniest bit nervous, too. After all, chances were much higher that he wouldn't live up to her expectations than the other way round.

She was still looking at him with expectancy, and he did some quick thinking. "Fine," he finally said, "here's what I want you to do: Put on the dress you picked for the party at the Burrow underneath your school robe and wear it to the Leaving Feast. Beneath that, wear a pair of knickers in either black or Slytherin green, with a matching, front closing lace bra." The Slytherin green was a bit mean, maybe... but if it irked her slightly, all the better. It was hard to be nervous when feeling vengeful. The front closing bra would spare him some fumbling... he didn't really have much experience with muggle clothing. Other than that, he didn't really care all that much about her underwear – if it was up to him, she wouldn't be wearing it for long anyway – but she probably wouldn't thank him for simply vanishing it. And the main purpose of giving her instructions was to alleviate possible concerns she had about his tastes, and to hopefully put her mind in the right frame when dressing for the occasion.

Hm... come to think of it, it was actually setting his mind in the right frame as well – he'd probably be thinking about the underwear she had chosen just for him during the entire Leaving Feast. Too bad he wasn't going to catch a glimpse of her outfit, as students were wearing their school robes for the Leaving Feast. Unless...

"Since you're so keen on starting new traditions..."

She looked up in surprise, obviously wondering how he knew.

"Oh yes," he affirmed with a smug smile. "I know all about your plans for the beach party... and before you ask: No, I legilimised no one. But I've been a spy for twenty years. Knowing what's going on beneath my nose has kept me alive. Don't worry. I won't deter you. In fact, I think it's an excellent idea, and I will subtly encourage my Slytherins to participate. At the moment, they're still desperately trying to figure out what the catch is."

Hermione stared at him aghast. "There is no catch! Why must they always be so distrustful?"

"It's in our Slytherin nature, I'm afraid. Anyway, like I said – since you're so keen on starting new traditions, here's another one: When you're in the courtyard, right before going down to the boat house with your fellow students, take off your school robe, transfigure it into a blackbird and let it fly away."

"Why?" she asked, puzzled.

He smirked and leaned closer, as if confiding a secret. "Because I want to see you in your dress and imagine the underwear you're wearing beneath it," he whispered in his most silky baritone, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. This was clearly a breach of their contract, but honestly, who cared?

"The other teachers who will accompany you all to the boats will have no idea what this really is about... They'll just see a nice piece of magic, demonstrating how far you have come in your magical education. Our deceased headmaster would doubtlessly appreciate the symbolic character of the gesture, I'm sure: Shedding away what made you a student for seven years, to come out from beneath the black robe like a butterfly from a cocoon, ready to spread her wings..."

He found he rather liked the metaphor himself. It was almost poetic. Hermione seemed to agree. He could see the wheels turning in her head just by looking into her eyes. Knowing her, she would make sure that her classmates wore something nice beneath their robes as well and knew the spell, too. This year's leaving ceremony was probably going to be much more entertaining than all the others he had attended before.

If this wasn't so new for both of them, he'd might have ordered her to go without knickers in the first place... Now that was an entertaining idea to keep in mind! He began to see the appeal in giving her precise instructions, especially as she seemed so eager to follow them.

"Wear your hair down," he ordered, remembering that it would probably be high on the list of her concerns, and that her urge to control it would even be stronger when she felt out of control herself. "And none of that Sleakeazy stuff to make it 'tame' or such nonsense!" He had imagined how her wild curls would look flowing all over his pillow many times in the last months, and he was looking forward to seeing it for real.

"At midnight sharp, excuse yourself from your friends at the Burrow and floo to my private quarters – I will lower the wards to my fireplace and connect it to the Floo Network for exactly a minute, so you'd better be punctual." He made an effort to use his authoritative teacher voice that never failed to affect her, as he had noticed. A useful tool to have...

"What am I going to tell them?" she asked, still in a husky voice, her cheeks now coloured in the nice flush of excitement.

He shrugged, pretending not to care. "That you mustn't be late for detention? That you're off to shag your Potions Professor in the Dungeons? That you are madly in love with him and can't wait to celebrate the fact that you're finally allowed to act on your feelings?"

Her eyes grew wide. "So you're okay with me telling them the truth, then?"

"Is it the truth, Hermione?" It was still so hard to believe. She was going to have all the options she could want – what man would say no to a witch who was smart, kind, beautiful and courageous? And yet she kept insisting that she wanted him, even loved him. He knew she was a bit insane, but if she told that to her friends, they would declare her insane, too.

She must have seen the hint of insecurity in his gaze, because her eyes softened. "You know perfectly well that it is, Severus, so you might stop worrying about it," she repeated the advice he himself had given her earlier and smiled. "Thank you. I'm really looking forward to graduation day now."

"As am I, Hermione... as am I!"

* * *

 _A/N: Okay, the next chapter will finally bring on what you've all been waiting for. Just don't expect outright smut – you'll have to add that by using your own imagination. ;)_

 _For those who are hoping for the promised Christmas chapter, here a brief update: I'm working on it in between getting the remaining chapters ready, but I can't promise at this point whether I'll have it finished by real-life Christmas or not – most likely not, as the weeks before that tend to be busy._

 _Besides (Dreamthrower will already have suspected this) the 'chapter' that was supposed to be a simple one-shot has already reached proportions that demand multiple chapters – brevity is just not my forte, and apart from all the Christmas merryment and the kiss, I wanted to cover some topics I haven't been able to explore in this story: Hermione's scar, the relationship between Harry and Severus, the remodeling of 'grim, old place', and what really happened the night Harry's parents were killed. I just pinned that part down today, and I'm very pleased that after doing a lot of research and finding nothing but logic holes in canon, I believe I found satisfactory answers to all of those many open questions ... including the mysteriously missing 24 hours. Hope you'll find it convincing!_


	22. Everything Coming Together

Summary of Chapter 21 – What Happens on Graduation Day

A few days before graduation Hermione is getting nervous, as she doesn't know what Severus expects from her. When she learns that he has a courting phase in mind for them, she quickly dissuades him from this notion and tells him that she wants to spend her last days before leaving for Australia with him. Severus finally agrees. To set Hermione at ease, who doesn't feel comfortable when not able to plan for everything, he gives her clear instructions as to what to do for the Leaving Feast – and after...

* * *

 **Everything Coming Together**

To the vast relief of the organising committee, the day of the beach party arrived with beautiful summer weather. Hermione had been prepared to put up rain-repelling charms over the cove, but those were only good for as long as the wizards feeding magic into them were conscious and clear-minded enough to control the flow, and she fully intended to get wasted. Hermione still remembered all too well how Draco's and Harry's intoxication level had affected the charmed Christmas decorations at Grimmauld Place ... It had been quite humorous at the time, but the failing of rain-repelling charms in the middle of a party would probably not be considered amusing. Fortunately, they wouldn't have to worry about that.

The feast was a well-known secret among students and staff alike. The professors pretended to be oblivious to seventh years disappearing from their common rooms when curfew approached, and the few younger students who tried to sneak to the beach found themselves deterred by strong age-wards. Overcome with spontaneous fatigue and a sudden yearning for soft cushions, they turned on the spot and headed back into their beds.

In small groups the graduate students from all houses drifted in – the Slytherins arriving as a united front, their expressions still a bit wary. When the other students welcomed them with tentative smiles or an offering of drinks instead of drawing their wands, however, they slowly relaxed and started to mingle. The punch certainly helped to ease any remaining tension. It had been spiked with a generous amount of Firewhisky, so that it didn't take long until the initial hesitance and awkwardness was overcome. Just like the organising committee had hoped, students from all houses were soon found chatting animatedly and amiably, sharing funny anecdotes from their Hogwarts years, reliving particularly memorable moments (such as Neville and his Boggart) and gossiping about their teachers.

It was one of the highlights of Harry's evening when the Slytherins grudgingly admitted that their Head of House had in deed been partial towards his own and especially unfair towards Gryffindors. However, those who had grown up under Professor McGonagalls strict tutelage were surprised to hear that, within the confines of his own house, the Head of Slytherin had been just as strict with his own charges as she, and that he had punished every kind of misdemeanour at least as harshly.

The Gryffindors conceded that their once most hated teacher had changed very much since the war and that – if one disregarded his snarkiness – he was an exceptionally good teacher, and a war hero, who the Slytherins had every reason to be proud of. With this consensus reached, the ice was broken, and house affiliation no longer played a role as students sat listening to the music of the 'Weird Sisters', chatting, eating, drinking and telling each other of their future plans. In the same measure as the punch level in the cauldron fell, the giggling, the laughter and the horseplay increased, and so did the noise level. The music was turned to up, and Neville, Seamus and Luna started dancing. It didn't take long for others to join in, and soon, the party was as boisterous and jolly as the famous Tri-Wizard-Christmas-Ball in the late hours.

After it had become really dark – which was way after eleven, given that it was summer in the highlands – torches were lit along the beach. Fagged out revellers gathered around the campfires, and Pure-bloods were introduced to the Muggle delicacies of roasted Marshmallows and twist bread. A few particularly daring and inebriated young wizards and witches even spontaneously jumped into the lake in their undies, engaging the Giant Squid in their silly games.

Luna charmed pebbles into colourful glowing orbs and floated them into the surrounding trees, where they not only added scenic illumination, but also softly gave off clear, bell-like sounds that reminded Hermione of wind chimes.

Slowly and gradually, the party noise died down, and when the music was only softly playing in the background, everybody sat around the dying campfires in group or pairs, some even lay down with their heads in their friend's laps, too tired or too drunk to sit upright any longer. By the time the first shimmer of dawn began to show at the horizon, most of the students had found their way back into the castle and only a handful of those who had consumed so much punch that they were oblivious to everything else remained sound asleep on the beach, among them Harry and Draco, lying side by side, hands entwined.

When they woke up hours later to the bright light of morning and the unbearably loud chirping of birds, these hard core party-dwellers were surprised, but immensely grateful, to find a stash of Hangover-Relief Potion on a table next to the burned-out campfire. It was never found out which benevolent spirit had taken mercy on them – it certainly couldn't have been the Potions Master – but his or her act of pity was praised multiple times that day.

*'*'*'*'**

At midnight sharp on the evening of the Leaving Feast, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace of Severus' living room. Emanating a curious mixture of nervousness, excitement and elation, she self-consciously brushed a trace of ash off her dress and let her eyes search the room. She didn't need long to find him. The Potion Master was sitting in his favourite chair opposite the fireplace, a book in his hands and a glass of Scotch on the side-table next to him. Seeing her, he carefully closed the book and looked at her.

She was stunning in her red, short-sleeved dress. His breath had caught when she had vanished her concealing school robe earlier in the evening, just in the manner he had commanded her to do. Their gazes had briefly locked across the crowded courtyard and he'd seen the teasing glint in her eyes when he had taken in the fact that she had chosen a deep Gryffindor red to cover the Slytherin green underwear she was doubtlessly wearing beneath it. She had been glorious, radiating with happiness and magical power, and he had felt pride swell in his chest for having contributed to the forming, nurturing and education of this incredible, talented young women.

The unexpected farewell performance of the graduates had been a sight to behold. Seeing the colourful dresses emerge from beneath black robes which transformed into a flock of blackbirds and took off into the evening sky, those witnessing the spectacle had been all 'ah's' and 'oh's' and had spontaneously applauded. Severus had no doubt that a new tradition had been established. And no one, apart from him and Hermione, would ever guess what had led to its birth.

"I'm back," Hermione needlessly said, her voice slightly breathless.

"On the stroke of midnight, like Cinderella from her first ball," he acknowledged, standing up and slowly approaching her. "Punctual as ever, and you still even have both shoes. How has the royal court taken your sudden departure?"

The corners of her mouth twitched, and there was an amused sparkle in her eyes. "With utter shock, disbelief and much consternation. When I told them that I had to leave because I had a date with Professor Snape to celebrate my graduation in a more private manner and that I couldn't wait to see him again, their chins fell down. I didn't linger to hear them recover their voices." Hermione wouldn't be at all surprised if they still stood staring mouth agape into the fireplace. Ron's and Lavender's expression had been particularly memorable. Too bad she couldn't have taken pictures.

"Smart girl!" Severus praised, smirking. "Always choose your battles." He stepped closer and pulled her into a firm embrace, burying his nose in her hair. He was amazed at how natural it felt. "Happy graduation, Hermione."

Her own arms encircled his back, and she snuggled against him. "Thank you", she smiled into his chest. "I never thought that I'd await it so eagerly and with so little focus on my grades."

He lifted a hand to caress her cheek, relishing in the liberty of finally being allowed to do so. "I'm sure you excelled, as always. You have every reason to be proud of yourself. And just for the record: I have never wished for a school year to end as eagerly as I did this year, either."

"You reigned in your impatience admirably well. Much better than I did." He had always seemed in control, never once allowing himself to get carried away. She had been the one who had transgressed. But then, he had always been a man in command of himself.

"I've never been able to control my life's circumstances and adjust them according to my wishes," he murmured, sliding his other hand up the nape of her neck and into her curls. "But no I'm finally free to do what I've been longing to do for quite a long while..." Fanning out his fingers, he gently glided them along her scalp and down the long tresses cascading down her back like a silken waterfall, enjoying the smoothness against his skin.

She let out a low hum, either in agreement with his statement or with the play of his fingers in her hair. Probably the latter, as her eyes fell shut.

"You were so radiant tonight," he whispered into her ear, inhaling her sweet orange and jasmine smell. "When I saw you perform that admirable piece of magic in the courtyard, and again a little later, when you disapparated from the boat... I almost couldn't believe that you'd come back to me."

A delicious shiver of anticipation went down Hermione's spine when she felt his breath on her sensitive skin. "I think we're both way too doubtful about many things, Severus," she sighed, her eyes still closed in bliss.

His deep baritone felt like velvet in her ear. "I'm can feel all my doubts melting away right now..."

"Hmm... yes. So do I... " She turned her face until her lips met his palm. "Does that mean you're going to kiss me anytime soon?"

"With pleasure..." he responded, and, still cradling her face, lowered his mouth to hers. It was like the kiss in his office – a bit tentative at first, a gentle greeting of lips that hadn't met for a while and needed to get reacquainted with each other. Though they had both been anticipating this moment for a long time and had been become really close in every other sense, the physical intimacy was still new to them, and he didn't want to rush into it. He suspected that she was still a bit jittery and unsure of herself, though she was hiding it admirably well.

He traced his tongue along her lips in a soft and sensual caress until they parted, and she lightly brushed the tip her own tongue against his, inviting him to taste her again. It was an offer he couldn't resist – all the more tempting since he no longer felt as if he was committing a serious offence. Encouraged by her eagerness and the fast hammering of her pulse beneath his fingers on her neck, he deepened the kiss and began a slow and sensual exploration of her sweet mouth, savouring the silky softness and drinking in her tantalising flavour.

For long moments, they stood like this, relishing in the feel and taste of each other. All of Hermione's nervousness had evaporated; there was nothing but impatience, desire and the need to feel more of him. But her searching fingers found nothing but cloth - his skin was carefully hidden from sight and touch under far too many layers of fabric. He had removed nothing but his teaching robe while waiting for her.

"Don't you ever take off your frock coat – not even in your own quarters?" Hermione inquired, tugging on his collar.

"I usually do..." he said, sounding amused. "But in the light of your obsession with my buttons, I figured that you'd want to be the one to undo them."

Well, that put an entirely different complexion on the matter. "Good thinking," she agreed appreciatively, happy that she would get to live out one of her most cherished fantasies – and hopefully even more. "Do you see now why I fell for an intelligent man?"

When she got started on his buttons, Severus could only hope that she wouldn't question her decision, because an intelligent man was all she would be getting. He'd always been a bit self-conscious about exposing his body... not because something was fundamentally wrong with it – he considered himself in well-enough shape for a man of his age – but because it had been used as means of ridicule in the past. And in no way could he compete with 'no-brains-all-muscles Quiddich-player-type' guys like Krum or Weasley when it came to his physique.

But Hermione didn't seem to think in these categories at all. Her face, as usual, displayed all her emotions, but disappointment wasn't one of them. There was just tenderness and a strange kind of awe; shyness paired with determination.

He stood still as she divested him of his frock coat, undoing each and every button with great care and solemnity, even the ones on his cuffs. Hermione's timidity was washed away with the excitement of finally finding out what lay beneath his most distinctive piece of clothing. Not so surprisingly, it was a charcoal suit vest over a white button-up shirt with a high standing collar. She had often seen glimpses of it peeking out above the tightly bound black cravat. Slowly, Hermione began working it loose. Fortunately, it was easier to deal with than a modern tie: It was just a scarf-like silken piece of cloth that was wound twice around his neck and tied in the front with a simple knot.

Severus gave an involuntary twitch, but forced himself to remain unmoving. He hadn't allowed anyone this close since he'd suffered severe injuries from Nagini's bite. No one had seen his bruised flesh but the healers at St. Mungo's, who had gone to great pains themselves to repair the damage. The new skin that had grown over the wounds was still tender. It wasn't pretty. And yet Hermione still looked as if she was untying the bow on a present.

As if sensing that this part of his body was delicate territory, she was careful not to touch him there for now. Her face was solemn, but showed neither disgust nor pity. Her gaze didn't even linger on his scars, but travelled downwards along with her hands as she diligently started to unbutton his vest.

Only when she had reached the last button did she notice his pants. They were clearly vintage, too... high waist, discrete front flap – with a row of three buttons left and right. Incredulous, she looked up into his face and found him smirking.

"Seriously?" she asked, wondering if this wasn't taking the theme a bit too far. Though admittedly, he cut a fine figure in those slacks... The overall effect was one of understated elegance. Despite being Victorian, his whole ensemble was rather puristic and no-nonsense, fitting of the man beneath.

"They're comfortable," Severus said, struggling to keep his voice even despite the fact that her scrutinising gaze rested on his groin. "I don't think a rather important part of a man's anatomy should be squeezed into tight pants like those young men nowadays like to wear. It can't be healthy."

Well, from the look of it, these trousers weren't giving him much room either, but the soft, finely woven wool was probably more accommodating. Though she was itching to explore further in that direction, her courage only took her so far. Feeling the warmth in her cheeks, Hermione left the newfound, rather enticing buttons alone for now and just tugged out the shirt from beneath his waistband.

It had just as many buttons as his other layers, but she enjoyed undoing every single one of them, inch by inch revealing more of the man beneath. Finally she made it down to his bare skin, which emanated heat. Fully aware of how privileged she was to be allowed to get this closed-off, buttoned-up man out of his shell, she slipped off the vest and, after diligently undoing those cuffs, too, the shirt.

Almost reverently, she placed her palms on his chest. That he allowed her this close was a heady feeling and filled her with awe. Beneath her palms, she could feel his heart pound and his muscles tense. Caressingly, her hands explored his skin, wandering across the planes of his chest, brushing over the tight nubs of his nipples and into the shallow dip between his pectorals, and glided lower to the gentle curve of his stomach, while her eyes were drinking him in.

He was just as pale as Ron, but not as bulky. Though he wasn't overly muscular, his shoulders were broad by nature and his chest defined, which gave him an imposingly manly figure, especially combined with his height. The skin over his sternum was sprinkled with dark hair, which grew in a nicely shaped pattern toward the centre of his abdomen, coming together in the area of his navel and continuing down in a happy trail that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. It was incredibly soft, almost downy, when she ran her hands over it – appreciatively, tenderly, lovingly.

She more felt than heard his sharp intake of breath before he – in a sudden, unexpected movement – caught her hands and drew her arms behind her back, encircling both her wrists and holding them pinned. Slightly startled, Hermione looked up and saw something burn in his eyes that she couldn't define. It wasn't lust or desire, as she had expected, although both were was undeniably there, too. But there was something else... confusion and utter bewilderment.

Severus' breath had caught in his throat the moment her hands had touched him, and then he had forgotten how to breathe. Now the constriction in his chest was almost painful. There was no reasonable explanation for what was happening to him. It was just too intense, too much to process. His strong response scared him. Hhe felt like he was about to lose it – though what would happen if he did, he didn't have a clue. He just knew that it would be something terribly sentimental and embarrassing. For a moment, he was afraid that he might break out in tears. Horrified by this, he had quickly caught her hands in his, pinning them behind her back and thus stopping her from wreaking further havoc with his emotions. As much as he had wanted for her to proceed at her own pace for as long as she was comfortable – and she had seemed quite comfortable with what she was doing – he desperately needed to get things back under control.

Before Hermione had a chance to think about what happened, his mouth came down on hers, hard, fervently, commandingly. Whatever had caused the powerful reaction, his intensity was consuming. It caught her as well, and instantly set her on fire. A soft, moaning sound came from her throat. She melted against him, and feeling his body hard and unyielding against her own blew a few more of her fuses.

For the sake of balance – Severus had never felt this naked before, even though he was still half dressed – he slid a hand up her back and slowly unzipped her dress halfway. It drew another sound of pleasure from her that he stifled with his own mouth.

Using both of his hands, he pulled the still tight dress over her shoulders and down to her elbows. The gathered material held her arms trapped and – at least for the moment – kept her wandering hands from continuing their hazardous explorations. Gentling his assault on her mouth, he buried a hand in her hair again and bent her head back until she met his gaze. He needed to see her face to make sure they were still on the same page before he let his eyes and lips wander to other beckoning places. He hadn't meant to scare her, coming on this strong.

Her eyes were glazed over and her breathing ragged, but certainly not with fear. He sucked in a breath himself at the sight of her. She was glorious. Her hair was already a dishevelled mess, her lips red from their kisses, and her face flushed with desire. Yes, they clearly were still wanting the same thing.

His gaze glided along her upper body, her delicate neck, her collar-bone and her heaving chest. The most alluring parts were still hidden beneath green and silver cloth, and Severus silently praised his own foresight for having demanded a front-closing bra. It certainly made things a lot easier now. He'd undress her properly in a little while, but right now, he just wanted to reciprocate and explore the softness of the skin and flesh that was now bared to his eyes.

Hermione didn't object to his course of action - not to being restricted in her movement and gently pressed against the bookshelf next to his fireplace, not to his hands and mouth roaming her naked skin, and certainly not to his taking control. It was exactly what she wanted: to surrender herself to these incredibly feelings and the man who evoked them. In none of her fantasies had she pictured this moment in a setting with candles and roses and whispered declarations of love. Romance, at least in her experience, translated to awkwardness, insecurity and too many apologies. With Ron, it had felt like a task she had to get right. She couldn't blame it on him – he'd been sweet in his typical 'Ron' way, but as clueless and inexperienced as she, and really bad at picking up subtle signals. He hadn't been master of the situation at all, not like Severus now, and his insecurity had only fed hers. This was exactly what she wanted: No worries, no questions, no doubts.

She was perfectly happy to let him take the lead and set the pace, which, as she soon discovered, was deliberately, teasingly and agonisingly slow. By the time they had finally gotten rid of their remaining clothes and Severus picked her up to carry her to his bedroom, Hermione wasn't able to form coherent thoughts anymore, let alone to worry about anything.

Severus' intensity and his commanding manner calmed and aroused her in equal measure. It might have seemed like a contradiction before, but she now understood better how her subconscious worked: With him in control, she was free to just feel.

Secure in the knowledge that he knew perfectly well what he was doing and that she neither needed to coach him, nor to reassure him or to ask him to go slow, she allowed herself to be carried away by sensation, until nothing else existed than the man she loved, who was kissing her, touching her, and who was coaxing responses from her body that she hadn't believed it capable of expressing.

When they had both caught their breath again much later, Hermione nestled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder and putting her arms around his chest. A riot of caramel curls spilled over his arm and his pillow, and he buried his nose in it and enjoyed the gentle tickling on his bare skin, her nearness and the warmth of her body. Another novelty. He had never in his life cuddled with anybody. He wasn't used to any kind of demonstration of affection that came with touch. His parents hadn't been affectionate people, certainly not with each other. And if his mother had ever caressed or cuddled with him, he had been too young to remember. Later, she had become too caught up in her own depression to be still able to feel empathy or tenderness for anyone. The women with whom he had spent a night in the past had touched him – but only his body, and only in a rather perfunctionary way, focussing on the most involved body parts and aiming to arouse, not to caress.

It had been totally different from Hermione's soft and tentative explorations. She had touched him almost with reverence, as if it was a privilege – tender, gentle, loving. It had completely thrown him. Severus didn't need a degree in Muggle psychology to know that his reaction to her innocent but uninhibited tenderness wasn't quite normal. He had never realised before how much of an impact his childhood and his youth still had on him. Hermione showered him with all the things he had never been given, had never experienced and thus had no clue how to accept graciously: Gratitude, honesty, trust, affection and touch. His usual way of dealing with these things – provided they penetrated the barriers he had drawn around himself – was to go on the offensive and lash out. And though he hadn't meant to do so earlier, he had briefly fallen into the same pattern of behaviour again.

It had been instinctual; an outlet for the surge of emotion that had flooded him when she had dismantled all his protective barriers with just a gentle touch. And although he had been a bit more intense, more passionate and more dominating than he had intended to be at this point, she had shown no hesitance or resistance. She had kissed him back with a fervour that matched his, and he had silently thanked Merlin that the woman he had fallen in love with appreciated his natural dominance instead of feeling put off or scared by it. So he had proceeded in the same manner, feeling her tension and nervousness drain away and transform into eager expectancy the more assertive and unwavering his touches had become.

The young witch who had feared herself to be too cerebral, too levelheaded and too analytical to abandon herself to instinct, passion or wanton desire had become wax in his hands...warm and pliant, and incredibly responsive. How anyone, including herself, could ever have questioned that was utterly beyond him, and he wouldn't exactly pride himself on being an exceptional lover. Attentive, maybe – a good observer, who knew to take his cues and to proceed accordingly.

Just like she had opened up her mind to him, asking very little in terms of safeguards, promises and assurances, she had welcomed his body – with trust and abandon. Sinking into the incredible warmth of her, into the silky softness that had enclosed him and made him a part of her... it had felt much like diving into her mind-lake again. The experience this time had been a lot more physical than transcendental, but overwhelming no less. He had been so overcome with emotions that he was hardly able to tell up from down – it was as if he had been catapulted into an otherworldly realm where everything suddenly seemed possible. It was exhilarating, liberating, bedazzling. And scary as hell.

"Are you alright?" Hermione softly enquired, looking up at him. She had never seen such an expression on his face before.

He narrowed his eyebrows, and she smiled when she saw that one familiar, vertical furrow appear between them. She reached out and let her finger gently graze across it. There. This was familiar. How she had come to adore his frown!

"You're stealing my lines again," he accused.

Her smile widened. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware this was still part of the part where you call the shots."

"It's definitely not," he answered and swallowed. "This is the part where I feel totally out of my depth," he admitted reluctantly.

Hermione, picking up on his tone, sobered. "What do you mean?"

Reminding himself that he didn't ever want to distance himself from her ever again, Severus gathered his courage to just tell her the truth. It wasn't easy, sitting here like he was, feeling naked and exposed inside and out. "I told you my experience when it comes to relationships is practically non-existent. I guess this..." he gestured to her body snuggled up against his side and her hand idly drawing patterns on his chest, "falls under the relationship part. I admit it scares me a bit."

"Why?" Hermione asked, trying to understand. This part was surprisingly easy. She had not expected it to feel so natural - lying next to him in his bed, on twisted sheets, dishevelled, sweaty, but happy and sated.

He searched for the words to describe his turmoil. "For the same reasons you were nervous about the physical part, I suppose. I don't know what to expect. I don't really have a clue how to behave and how to get it right. I don't want to disappoint you, but I'm afraid I'll mess it up..."

"You won't. You can't." Hermione objected with utter conviction. "I was only disappointed in you once in my life, and that was a long time ago in my forth year."

"I don't know how to be gracious, gentle and affectionate. I don't even know how properly react to you being all that."

Hermione turned onto her side, propping her head on her elbow so that she could fully see his face. "Yes, you do, Severus," she said earnestly, reaching out and touching his cheek. Her eyes were full of everything he thought he couldn't express himself. "Ever since the night I came into your office, you've been nothing but kind and patient and even affectionate towards me. I know that your demonstration of these things is a little gruff sometimes, and that you probably don't qualify as a romantic hero in most people's eyes, but I don't expect you to write me poems or buy me flowers. I'd rather have a potion for my hair and books anyway, and I happen to love your snarkiness and your bite. Lately, I haven't even needed the quill anymore to translate what you were trying to say. Just be yourself with me."

He snorted. "Actually, that's exactly what I'm most concerned about. I don't want to be that kind of 'me' anymore – not with you."

"What 'kind of you' are you talking about? The Death Eater? That has been nothing but a role, which you've played far too long; so long that it made you thing it was the real you. And should you be referring to the mean, insulting and most hated Potions Professor - you haven't been him for a long while, either, not since your return to Hogwarts. Maybe it slipped your notice, but your pupils don't hate you anymore, not even Gryffindors. Harry, Luna, Draco, Minerva – they all very much like you just like you are. And as to all the things you still feel uncomfortable with – like the horrible Gryffindor bluntness and sentimentality – you'll learn how to cope. I'll just keep thanking you, touching you affectionately and giving you hugs and kisses until you no longer feel awkward about it. And you will keep pointing out my mistakes and tell me in the same breath that you love me nonetheless, until I am no longer so afraid of failing. I think we have a perfectly working division of responsibilities: You'll take care of my insecurities, and I'll take care of yours. From here on, we'll learn from each other. And if this..." she gestured towards the dishevelled sheets and their state of nakedness, "... was any indication, we'll be having much fun in the process."

"If this was any indication, I'll be a physical and emotional wreck within no time," he replied – gruffly – before her emotional speech could get to him even more than it had. He might be willing to try and become a more sensitive kind of man, but he wouldn't ever be found weeping. There were still a few lines he didn't ever wish to cross. "You've no idea what you're doing to me, witch!"

Hermione grinned wickedly, planted a kiss on his chest and let her hand that had been idly resting on it slowly trail lower. "If this is any indication," she whispered, leaning closer, "I think I do..."

He quickly rolled her over so she was underneath him, effectively nipping every attempt of her topping from the bottom in the bud. "I love you," he said, swallowing a tremendous lump that seemed to be stuck in his throat. Saying it was difficult, frightening, alien and made him vulnerable to a degree he had never felt vulnerable before. But he still felt the need to say it.

Hermione lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, his eyebrows, his perpetual frown. "I love you, too," she said, her soft hazel eyes shining with moisture. "We'll be good together, Severus. I know."

The lump disappeared. He was able to able breathe freely again.

* * *

 _A/N: There, it's done! In he light of the fact that I hadn't even intended to write a love-scene, I hope this was at least a little reward for your patience. :) I only did it because I wanted to settle the nagging question 'What does Severus wear beneath that frock coat?' Unfortunately, even after a discussion with Dreamthrower on the matter, I wasn't able to picture Severus' underwear. I'm just sure that those are not Victorian. After all, Severus is a bright enough man to recognise progress and the sensibility of some Muggle inventions like boxers and elastics. Given that he's a hygienic man and can easily use a cleaning charm even after going for a pee, I'm not averse to having him go commando, either... So I'll leave it up to you to decide. ;)_

 _Don't leave me just yet... I have two epilogues coming..._


	23. Epilogue One

_A/N: Here's the promised (first) epilogue. Huge thanks to all of you who read, followed, favourited and reviewed this story! If you came across it after it was already finished – I'm still happy about every comment you might post, and will, of course, reply to it._

 _Thanks again to my faithful beta, Dreamthrower, who dedicated a lot of her free-time to help me with this! Couldn't have done it without you!_

* * *

 **Epilogue**

As usual, the owls came flying in when everybody was sitting at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. The nondescript barn owl that was heading for the staff table clearly belonged to the Hogsmeade Post Office. It landed next to the N.E.W.T level Potions and DADA Professor and dropped the tiny, white Muggle envelope in front of the witch sitting right beside him. "It's from my mum," Hermione said, absentmindedly offering the owl a piece of toast with marmalade, and enlarged the letter. The bird ruffled its feathers in disgust and took off without the snack.

"Hopefully no more bad news..." Severus muttered when Hermione opened and started reading the letter. He remembered all too well the last owl that had arrived for Hermione during dinner at Prince House with Irma and his aunt a few months ago. It had been from Harry, informing them that Ginny had gone missing. Two months of worrying and frantic searching had finally found her in a Muggle hospital, suffering from sustained injuries and comprehensive memory loss. Hermione had instantly taken time off from the ministry and had come back to Hogwarts to assist him with the work on his Memory Potion. He had not been treating it with utmost priority up to that point, as Hermione wasn't even sure if she still wanted to use it on her parents should he be successful in completing it. But now Ginny was in dire need of it, and they had practically been working on it around the clock ever since.

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed, staring at the letter in her hand with a dumbfounded expression that quickly morphed into horrified. "Oh God – she can't... We somehow have to talk her out of this!"

"How bad is it?" Severus let his cutlery sink and looked with concern at the young, agitated witch at his side. She didn't look like she was about to start crying – just bewildered and slightly guilty. But he was prone to expect the worst if not told differently.

"Well, that depends on definition," Hermione muttered. "Remember that book my mum is writing?"

He nodded. "The fantasy novel about hidden magicians in Britain?" Hermione had taken almost devious pleasure in feeding her mother ideas for the story: An old castle that was a school for young, magically gifted children; a sports game played on broomsticks; hidden villages and parts of town normal people were ignorant of... In many ways, the story seemed to become a recount of her first Hogwarts years – with only minor adaptions. In fact, her mother had taken so well to the idea and had given such detailed descriptions that he and Hermione were convinced that the memories were not entirely gone. They were just in some parts of her mind that she couldn't consciously access anymore. Unlocking memories that were buried due to trauma or Obliviation was what they were trying to accomplish with the Memory Potion. It had been Hermione's idea to find a way to infuse it with actual memories – just like memories dissolved in a Pensieve. Their hope was that the visual of a memory from another person who was involved in a particular event would stimulate the buried memories in the mind of a person unable to access them actively.

"Yes, the very one. It's almost finished now, and she even found a publisher. But he insisted that 'Harriet' and 'Miller' both sounded too mundane for a heroine in a story about magicians. My mum conceded the point. She says she always loved the sound of what she thinks is my name – Harmony – and decided to play on that... and on Shakespeare's 'The Winter's Tale'. So as of now, the name of heroine is..." She gulped. "Hermione Prince!"

He blinked. "You must be joking!"

"I wish I was!" Hermione wailed. "She loved the idea of having a prince in her story, but given that she couldn't squeeze one in, she figured she might as well use it as name for the leading character. She says it has such a regal sound to it."

For a moment, Severus didn't say anything. Then picked up his knife and fork again, shrugged and said: "Well, she is right. You can't argue with that. In fact, I like the sound of it, too. That's why we have to convince her to stick with Harriet Miller. It might bring the Ministry down on our backs if we don't. They'll accuse us of violating the status of secrecy if your full name suddenly features on the cover of a muggle book about magicians."

"My full name?"

"Hermione Prince. Unless you want me tell my aunt 'no' and prefer becoming Hermione Snape instead?"

Now it was her turn to stare at him dumbfounded. "Are you... proposing to me?"

"Well, I'm proposing that instead of letting your mother make you the leading character in a muggle book..." he leaned closer and whispered confidentially into her ear: "we both know you don't like leading very much, anyway..." before continuing matter-of-factly: "we should make it official that you already play the leading role in my life. I can't guarantee a happily ever after, but a life-long opportunity to slay my dragons, with the occasional chance of fighting with a Death Eater ... you know – about such fundamental things as whether the toothpaste should be bought or brewed, whether the living room cushions should be red with silver trimmings or rather green with gold, and about who gets to wear the warm and extra smelly coat."

He didn't really dare look at her. Was she shocked? Did she think it was too soon? Was she really willing to bind herself to a cantankerous, grumpy old wizard? Before he could seriously start getting nervous about her answer, something dropped on his lap, the momentum and surprise giving it more weight than was actually behind it and eliciting a startled 'grrump' from him. He couldn't say much after that, either, because he had his arm and his mouth full of sweet, delicious and over-excited witch.

Down in the hall, the students sat thunderstruck, staring with their mouths agape at the staff table where the still somewhat scary Potions Master was snogging an ex-student of his at the breakfast table. The staff started cheering. Neither Severus nor Hermione noticed.

 ***'*'*A few months later*'*'***

Severus stepped back to admire his handiwork. Gazing down at his trembling wife, who was tied to the bedposts with leather cuffs on hands and ankles and who probably would have been begging by now if she had been able to, his stern mask slipped. He was still a good actor, but sometimes, in moments like these... when she looked up at him with that intoxicating mixture of excitement, trust and lust in her eyes, his facade was difficult to maintain. His expression softened, and instead of his signature frown, it showed nothing but love and devotion.

Hermione never maintained shields when she was with him like this, which enabled him to slip into her mind with the same ease he would sink into her warm and welcoming body in just a little while. It was a means to assure her comfort whenever they engaged in this kind of loveplay. Severus wanted to make sure that he never took things too far and involuntarily gave her more than she could handle. He had been more concerned about it than she. Not once had he felt anything in her mind that came even close to fear. Yet he always looked, if only to relish in the emotion that always predominated instead. He couldn't help it. It overwhelmed him time and time again, filling him with awe and wonder. It was his personal aphrodisiac. Her trust was addictive.

Drinking in the beauty of his witch, he let his lips and fingers trail over her soft skin, knowing exactly where and how to touch to banish all coherent thoughts from her equally beautiful, but usually always busy mind, to make her listen to nothing but his voice and the urgent demands of her body. He loved nothing better than to see her come apart beneath his hands, to hear how she gasped for breath, moaned and cried out his name in ecstasy. He knew she was getting close again, now.

"The most wonderful thing to peruse and put my hands on ..." he whispered, as he leaned over her and continued the sweet torment that would push her over the edge this time. "Knowledge bound in leather..."

 ***'*'*A few months later*'*'***

"Hermione! Hello my dear!" Dumbledore's portrait greeted her cheerfully, when she entered the Headmaster's office to receive a welcome home kiss from her husband. She had been away in Egypt for three days, working on a research project with the Egyptian Office for Mythology and Magecraft.

"Uh, hello," she replied distractedly, her attention diverted by the rather giant black bird that was sitting on Fawkes' old perch behind Dumbledore's old desk.

"Severus? Why is there a raven in your office?"

Her husband, who had grudgingly let himself be reinstated as headmaster after Minerva had retired at the beginning of the year, put his quill down and looked up at his approaching wife. He still wasn't given to bold displays of emotion, but a person who knew to read the subtle nuances in his expression wouldn't have missed the lighting-up of his eyes, the softening of his frown and the slight twitching in the corner of his mouth, which for him was almost as good as a wide, happy smile. Still, he quickly got himself back under control.

"As it seems, he now lives here," he said composedly, as Hermione sat down on his lap and put her arms around his neck.

"I was only away for three days... Did you miss me so much that you had to find yourself company?"

"And chose a raven as replacement?" Severus asked back, crooking an eyebrow and stroking a curl out of her face. "Hardly likely. Had it been my intention to replace you with something less talkative, I would have bought myself a Puffskein. They have a lots of hair, too, are tiny and droll, docile and they squeak a lot."

"I don't squeak!" Hermione said indignantly.

"Yes, you do. Always when I do this..." He pinched the soft spot on her left waist, and Hermione squeaked, then laughed when he tickled her.

"Stop that! Severus, please! I'd rather have you kiss me. It's been three days, and I missed you!"

He complied, doing his best to make up for time lost in those few minutes they had left before lunch break in fifteen minutes.

"So, what's with this bird?" Hermione inquired after thoroughly snogging her husband.

He shrugged. "I found him on the Astronomy Tower with a broken wing right after you left. I fixed it. Now he seems to think that he owes me or something. The stupid thing doesn't want to leave."

"He feels like he owes you?" she echoed, wondering if he had legilimised the bird.

"He keeps bringing me gifts – mice, worms, all kinds of dead things. They were piling up on the window sill before I finally relented and let him in."

On his perch, the object of discussion fixed Hermione with piercing eyes. If she hadn't known that birds were not known for doing such a thing, she would have sworn he was smirking, looking rather proud of himself. "He looks as if he understands every word..." she remarked. "You know, ravens are very intelligent animals."

"If he was intelligent, he'd at least bring me undamaged carcasses I could use for potions."

"Well, maybe you should show him what you need. Ravens are adaptive, too – you can teach them."

He snorted. "As if I didn't have enough dunderheads to teach!"

"If you are so set against it, why did you allow him to take residence?"

"What was I to do? Short of killing the damn bird, nothing can convince him that he's not my pet. I tried."

"But you didn't kill him."

"Of course not. He's a raven. It brings bad luck to kill one. I'm not going to risk the luck I was having lately. I might not be a fan of huge, black birds, but I'm not stupid."

"Well, he seems to have bonded with you. That means he's your familiar now."

"He's my what?"

"Familiar? You know – that special kind of animal that witches or wizards keep around? Like cats, owl, rats, toads..."

Of course he was familiar with the concept – in theory. He'd just never had a familiar of his own. His father would never have allowed a pet at home, certainly not a pet that bonded to a wizard. In Hogwarts, he hadn't wanted to risk it. If he had formed an attachment to an animal, it surely would have suffered at the hands of the Marauders. And later the responsibility on his shoulders had been enough without adding another being to the list of those he had to care for. Or which would care about him... that thought had admittedly been nice. But it was exactly why he hadn't ever bothered to get himself a familiar. Every kind of emotional attachment had been a liability at the time. But now...?

"... spiders, Puffskeins, snakes, ravens," Hermione concluded her enumeration. "While I can't really imagine you with a Puffskein, I think a raven would fit nicely."

"Because it's black and a fierce-looking bird of prey?"

"Yes. And because it's intelligent and loyal. Did you know that they live in monogamous, lifelong relationships? They are said to recognize their partner by voice."

"I recognise mine by her hair..."

"Did I mention that a bat would make a good familiar for you, too? Though that would probably be a bit too obvious – like Draco having a ferret."

"A ferret?" Severus raised his brow in confusion.

"Never mind. – So, are you going to keep him? In order to make him your bonded companion, you need to give him a name."

"It seems I have no choice in the matter. He apparently has adopted me. If he has named me, I'm happy to be oblivious of it."

"How do you like 'Odin'?"

"You think he named me Odin? Like the God of war and death?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If he did, you should name him Hugin or Munin. Those were his ravens."

"You would only nag me about getting another one to make the pair complete. Odin is fine. It will scare the first years. I'll ask Hagrid teach him what a proper gift looks like. Maybe the bird has some use, after all."

 ***'*'*About a year later*'*'***

"Oh, stop grumbling, Severus!" Hermione chided. "Of course you're going to accept the honour of being James Severus' godfather. Without you, we probably wouldn't be celebrating a baptism with Ginny and Peter today."

"If I had known that it would lead to having another James Potter roam Hogwarts' hallways in eleven years, I might not have developed the potion in the first place," her husband replied grumpily.

"Of course you would have. Because you really are a bleeding heart beneath all that black and spiky armour. Besides, they're still not decided whether his first or second name is going to be Severus. Severus James sounds nice, too. Would you prefer it if they changed the order of names?"

"Heaven forbid! I told Ginevra that she wouldn't be doing the child a favour by naming him after me altogether, but she was adamant. If she really wanted to honour my humble contribution to his existence, she should just not choose James as a name."

"That was Peter's choice. It was his grandfather's name, after all, and he has no clue about your aversion to the combination of James and Potter."

"If there was one good aspect to Draco's and Harry's sexual orientation, it was the presumed fact that neither one would father any offspring," Severus bemoaned. "But then Draco has to get married to Astoria Greengrass despite the fact that he's gay, and father a child to her. And of all the Muggles in the world Ginevra Weasley had to find one whose name happens to be Peter Potter! It's outrageous. I still can't get my head around it."

"Potter is not at all an uncommon Muggle name", his wife pointed out logically. "And you like Peter. Without him, all our friends would be younger than you. As to Draco, you know exactly how his marriage came about. He was just helping Astoria to comply with her parents' demands for a Pure-blood son-in-law. She didn't wish to be married off into a loveless marriage."

"By being married to a man who's in love with another man?"

"She always knew about that. And it's not like she was in love with Draco. They respect each other and have become good friends. And they both wanted a child so badly. They will be good parents for Scorpius, even if she lives at Malfoy Manor and he at Grimmauld Place most of the time."

"And of course they had to make me Scorpius' godfather as well. It's like history is repeating itself."

"Hopefully not. I would like for this particular Potter and this particular Malfoy to become friends right from the start. If you're lucky, James' hair will remain brown like it is now and he won't even look like the other James Potter."

"Yes – because I'm always so lucky with these things!" Severus said sarcastically.

"So you consider yourself an unlucky man?" his wife asked innocently, setting him up for getting his foot in his mouth.

"Stop fishing for compliments, witch! You know very well that I consider myself the luckiest man on the planet in the big scheme of things."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. I have the most brilliant, most beautiful and most impossible wife in the world. Thanks to her, I'm friends with the boy-who-lived-twice and Ginevra Potter, née Weasley, and those other dunderhead that came as a package deal, including, but not counting among the dunderheads, Luna Lovegood. I made it to the top of Hogwarts' most challenging teachers list and our latest potions project will eventually become a huge success. There's no topping all that luck – so of course I consider myself a most fortunate man. I just don't understand why everybody thinks that I'm cut out to be a good godfather."

"Actually, there are actually some who even think you'll make a great father. I do..."

"What?" Dumfounded, he stared at her.

Hermione smiled. "And I believe I can top your current state of luck... You still have about seven months until then, but you might want to start plotting revenge and decide who we will choose as godparents for our child..."

 ***'*'*About nine months later*'*'***

"She is so beautiful..." Hermione said lovingly, looking at her two week old daughter who lay nestled in her arms. "I could stare at her all day long."

"Thank Merlin she takes after you! Otherwise you wouldn't want to be doing that."

"Don't be ridiculous. She's so your daughter – everybody knows that just from looking at her. She has your eyes and your black hair. It looks sleek, too, but I swear I saw it curl when she was getting impatient about being fed yesterday..."

"Her hair must be sensitive to her magic then... If it shows this early, she's going to be a powerful witch."

"Probably scary, too. Look at that scowl!"

"Here, give her to me ..." her husband said, taking his daughter into his own arms. "Now, let's see, little princess. Can you scowl like daddy? Look, like this... No, you're not doing it right. That's a smile, sweety. That's not going to scare anyone. It will make boys fall in love with you, though. If you continue with that beyond thirteen, I'll have to lock you in the Astronomy Tower to keep them all away from you."

"Won't work," his wife pointed out. "The Astronomy Tower is needed for classes."

"I'm the headmaster. If I say the Astronomy Tower is off limits and lessons will be held in the owlery until my daughter is of age, then it will be so."

Hermione snorted. "Rapunzel was blond, Severus, and not a witch who will be perfectly capable of flying away on a broom."

"Not if she takes after he mother, she won't," her husband countered with a mean smile in Hermione's direction, then turned back to the gurgling baby on his lap. "We'll have Granny rewrite the story, little one. She'll make you a warrior princess. She did a story about mummy, too. See this book here? 'Harriet Miller and the Stone of Wisdom' by Jean Katherine Wilkins. I'm going to read it to you when you're a little older. I really love the chapter where she flies away on a dragon after stealing the golden cup from a really nasty witch... Though my favourite part is where she unknowingly sets the prince on fire because she believes him to be an evil sorcerer in disguise. Honestly, even a really bright witch can be incredibly silly at times..."

 ***'*'*A few months later*'*'***

'It's a Miracle!'

 **Break-through in the field of Potions, Mindhealing and Neurology brings the Longbottoms back**  
 _Luna Scamander for 'The Quibbler'_

The cooperation of renowned Potions Master Severus Prince and his wife, Unspeakable and Research Specialist Hermione Prince, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom and his wife, Medi-witch Hannah Abbott, as well as the Muggle Healer, Dr. Peter Potter, has lead to a vital break-through in the treatment of long term Cruciatus victims Frank and Alice Longbottom.

A newly developed therapy combining nerve-restoring potions with a revolutionary appliance of mind-healing has been tested on the Longbottoms during the last three months and has proven a striking success. According to Ms. Hannah Abbot, who was in charge of the Longbottoms' care at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, both Mr. Frank Longbottom and his wife Alice have been released from hospital today to continue their convalescence at Hogwarts, where private quarters have been added to the hospital wing. This will allow all the wizards and witches involved in their treatment to monitor their patients and help them adapt to their new lives.

The renowned Aurors had been attacked and tortured by Death Eaters during the first Volde-War and have spent the last 25 years in the long-term care ward due to the severe damage that was done to their brains.

"It's wonderful, but it's also heartbreakingly sad..." said Ms. Abbot, daughter-in-law to the patients, visibly moved. "For them, it's like they woke up from a coma. They have no memories of the attack itself, and still holes in their memory regarding their lives before. To slowly ease them into their new lives, help them regain lost memories and re-acquaint them with their family is now our priority."

Neville Longbottom, who can't even remember his parents other than as patients in the Llewellyn Ward of St. Mungos, was overjoyed at this success, for which the entire team has worked for over three years. Yet he doesn't want to take his share of credit for this achievement: "The credit goes entirely to Professor Prince, Hermione Prince and Dr. Potter. It was Hermione's idea to use Legilimency on my parents in the first place, which, although it shocked Healers when she first suggested it and made the Daily Prophet claim that she was dabbling in the Dark Arts, laid the groundwork for their therapy. And it was only at her insistence that Dr. Potter, who is a what Muggles call a ... neulorotist – a healer of the brain – was involved in the process, too, and his input was invaluable. I'll forever be grateful to Professor Snape... ehm, Professor Prince, I mean, that he was willing to continue working with my parents despite recriminations and defamations against his character. His expertise in the field of potions and the mind arts as well as his willingness to explore and combine muggle and wizard knowledge in their treatment has brought this change in my parents' condition about, which is nothing less than a miracle."

The Potions Master was not available for comment. "It's mainly his work," says his wife, visibly proud of her husband. "Though Dr. Potter's expertise made the break-through in potion development possible in the first place. The time, determination and devotion my husband has given to this project is only rivalled by Mr. Longbottom's own efforts, not only in providing many of the difficult to grow plants necessary for the potion, but also in becoming adept in Legilimency himself. Had he not managed to make contact with his parents' traumatised minds on a very deep level of their subconscious and managed to gain their trust, it wouldn't have been possible at all to bring them back."

Asked about his experience working with wizards to heal brain damaged patients, Dr. Potter said: "It was positively enlightening. Though I very much regret that it might not be possible to apply the therapy that worked for the Longbottoms on Muggle patients, I am very happy that we were able to foray into a field of healing that might open new ways in the treatment of other wizards suffering from similar ailments. It has been a long and arduous process of trial and error, that came with disappointments, set-backs and impasses, and which required effort, patience and an openness of mind to break the mould and explore new possibilities. I can only admire Professor Prince's and his wife's ingeniousness. They have not only brought two seemingly lost wizards back to life, but also helped me and my wife a few years ago with the same empathy and determination. We will always be indebted to them."

What Dr. Potter refers to is the accident of his wife, Ginevra Potter, née Weasley, the famous Quiddich player, that brought the unusual Muggle-wizard cooperation about. A year after her graduation Ginny Weasely was involved in a tragic accident in Muggle London. Suffering from memory loss due to head injury and severely injured, she was taken to a muggle hospital, seemingly disappearing from the wizarding world without a trace for almost three months. Dr. Potter was the responsible Muggle healer in charge, and the young, unidentified and mysterious woman soon became much more to him than a case. When Ginny Weasely was finally found by her long-time friends, Auror Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, now Prince, Professor Prince and his long-time assistant started immediately working on a potion that would bring back her memory. They were successful only three months later and were thus able to finally bring her lost friend, who had been staying with Dr. Potter the entire time, back home and into the arms of her family. (The Quibbler reported, see issue 9/24. You can also read the entire, romantic and heart-breaking story in a book written by Miranda Midge, that will soon be published and which is based on Mr. and Mrs. Potter's personal accounts).

Cured of Gloomilows and with her memory restored, Miss Weasley got married to Mr. Potter only two months later. Having had the opportunity to visit Hogwarts, the Longbottoms and the team responsible for this miracle at Hogwarts, we are pleased to also confirm that no trace of Gloomilows can be found within the castle or its inhabitants.

 ***'*'*A few months later*'*'***

"Hush, princess, don't wake mummy up," Severus whispered to the toddler he bent to pick up from her crib. "Your sister has been throwing a party in mummy's tummy all night. We need to let her rest, or she'll be grumpy all day. Let's just grab one of those fancy nappies and go to my office..."

Severus was still fascinated by the convenient Muggle product Hermione had insisted on buying. It was a far cry from what he'd seen Muggle women use back in the seventies. Apparently, science had made a quantum leap since then. The built-in wetness indicator on his daughter's padded bottom told him that she needed a nappy change. Not that the smell wouldn't have given him a clue to that, too...

Nappy and baby on his arm, Severus stepped through the magical doorway that connected Prince House to his Hogwarts office. He had been reluctant to accept the position as headmaster at first, and surely wouldn't have done so if he'd been forced to live in the castle again. But although Hogwarts teachers and headmasters in recent years had mostly been single, it was neither a requirement nor had it always been the case. And since no one was willing to give up on his private life and move into staff quarters, the castle itself, in those cases, provided a sort of restricted Floo system. It opened a connection between a teacher's office and a single location of his choosing, not via fireplace, but through a hidden doorway. Access was limited to the respective teacher and his family, and it was absolutely foolproof, just like those hidden shortcuts he'd told Hermione about.

Whenever someone requested to see him in his office, he would feel it as a tingling in his body that would even rise him from sleep. But his presence was hardly ever requested at nights - well, not on the Hogwarts' side of the connection, that is...

Dawn was rising when Severus stepped into his office and quickly took care of his daughter's most urgent need. Thanks to the high-tech product, a vanishing and a cleaning charm, a nappy change was nothing he couldn't easily handle. He set Athena on the floor and let her crawl over to the cabinets that lined the walls on the lower parts of the office, those that contained what he had dubbed 'Dumbledore's junk'. He had not yet been able to figure out the purpose of any of the devices and instruments his predecessor had amassed there. Most of them weren't even magical – just impressive and mystifying looking props. Athena had taken a vivid interest in them. With a flick of his wand he opened the cabinet with those items he had judged safe to play with and floated some of them onto the floor. Soon, his first-born was immersed in her research. With a deep frown on her forehead that very much resembled his own she tried to figure out what her father had missed. Admittedly, she employed methods Severus had actually failed to consider, like giving them a thorough, oral examination.

Severus applied himself to the paperwork waiting on his desk. For a long while they were both lost in their tasks, until Athena's excited babbling caught his attention. Looking up, he saw her on all fours in front of the cabinet, trying to see underneath. "Bah – da-da!" she exclaimed agitatedly, a thread of drool hanging from her mouth. She was teething.

"What's the matter, princess?" Severus asked, but of course, her reply didn't really shed light on the matter. "Nee nigh! Mee-ma, ning!" she insisted, looking at him with a hopeful expression that conveyed her urgent need for an second opinion on the matter.

Severus got up and walked over to the cabinet that had caught her attention, crouching beside her. The drool had formed a puddle on the floor. Other than that, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Athena stretched out her baby hand and a pointy finger, and nearly lost her balance. "Careful there, pumpkin," Severus said and quickly reached out to stabilise her. Then he got down on knees and elbows to be able to bend lower, sticking his bum into their air right next to his daughter's. He still didn't see anything of interest. He turned his face and looked at the baby who flashed him a mostly toothless smile. Or it might have been a mischievous grin, he couldn't be sure. "You tricked me, didn't you?" he accused her, raising his eyebrow at her. She gurgled happily and tried to grab his nose.

"That's it, young lady! I won't tolerate such cheek – you really had this coming, you know?" And with that, he quickly grabbed her and put her on her back on the carpet in front of him. Lifting the hem of her shirt, he blew a hearty raspberry onto her chubby baby tummy. Athena gave a high-pitched, delighted squeak, followed by hefty, gurgling giggles. Severus did it again. Her rich, hearty baby's laughter was the most wonderful sound in the world.

Of course, this had to be the moment the door to his office opened and Minerva stepped in, worse yet, bringing along a student. A Gryffindor fourth year, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Severus..." she said, blinking. "I don't think you heard me knocking... What are you doing on the floor?"

As if it wasn't obvious. "Investigating," he said with as much dignity as his position allowed, and got up – deliberately unhastened, so as not to appear embarrassed. "Good morning. Miss... Bishop?" He picked up his still heavily drooling daughter. Really, her mouth was an inexhaustible spring. He should put her in the hothouse to water Longbottom's plants.

"Good morning, Sir," the girl said, staring at him with wide eyes. As if she'd never seen a baby.

"You came to inquire about your request for leave of absence due to a family celebration, I presume? I have approved it." He picked up the signed papers from his desk and held them out to her. "Here they are."

"Thank you, Headmaster. My parents will be delighted." Smiling, she took the letter and turned to leave.

"Miss Bishop...," Severus called after her, his voice poignant as ever, his eyes narrowed. "If I happen to hear a word about what you just saw in here out in the hallways, I'll know it came from you. Should that happen, I hope you understand that you'll have to be expelled."

"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed, aghast at his threat, which, strictly speaking, wasn't within the rules and guidelines of disciplinary measures he was allowed to take.

The girl suppressed a grin. Oh, if only she could tell! But then – no one in Gryffindor would believe her anyway. "Of course, Sir, I understand. I'll be the soul of discretion!"

 ***'*'*A few months later *'*'***

"Oh – how lovely! This owl is from Ron! The baby has arrived! Or rather the babies – Lavender gave birth to twins last night!"

"Oh, hurray," commented her husband drily, who was chilling on the couch with his sleeping baby daughter Ophélia on his chest, while Athena was on the floor chasing her Puffskein. "Another set of Weasley twins. I hope I'll not be Headmaster when they start at Hogwarts."

"It's a boy and a girl – Hugo and Lily," Hermione continued reading the letter.

Severus gave a soft snort. "Lily, seriously? Why is it that the entire family is named after flowers? Lavender, Rose, Lily... What comes next? Camilla? Petunia? At least they have the sense to name the boy Hugo, and not Hyacinthus or Huodendron."

"Don't be so spiteful," Hermione chided, picking up both Athena and the Puffskein and snuggling up to her husband and daughter on the quickly enlarged sofa. "Lily is most likely a tribute to Harry. They probably intend to make him her godfather. And given that the girl's second name is Luna, I suspect she will be asked to be the godmother."

"Merlin's Beard! Given that each of them is a godparent to one of our daughters, too, that makes us practically related to the Weasleys! How utterly atrocious!"

"You already entertain very successful business relations with Lavender, so how bad can it be?"

"Don't remind me! It was your idea to have those potions I developed for you patented and to sell them via a franchise partner. If ever word gets out that I'm the supplier for most of 'Lavender's Secrets' my reputation will be forever be ruined."

Hermione couldn't help grinning. After Ron had quit the Aurory a few years ago to work in his brother's joke shop, Lavender had opened a sub branch for incredibly successful beauty potions and other 'Witches' Delights'; among them a potion that not only stopped snoring, but also effectively did away with morning breath. And there were other useful potions that witches – and consequently wizards, too – were crazy for... The store was thriving.

"It won't get out," she assured him. "You made her take a wand oath, remember? That's why she decided to name her line of products 'Lavender's Secrets' in the first place." Hermione chuckled. "Lavender hasn't uttered a single bad word about you ever since. She's really impressed and awed by you. I believe naming her daughter Lily is also a tribute to you."

Severus looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Why would I want her kid to be named Lily?"

"Well, Lavender is still convinced that Lily Potter was your one and only true love. Nothing I say can convince her that the tragic tripe in that biography Rita published about you was mostly just that – rubbish. She thinks I'm your wife of convenience. Why else would anyone settle with me, when her own husband found me lacking?"

Severus snorted. "Just like I said – some people's brains never reach the size and the level of maturity their years call for." He shook his head in disbelief. "Just a good thing that we'll be off to Australia for the summer to introduce our new baby to her grandparents. Just in case naming the newest Weasley 'Lily' is not a tribute to Potter, but to me... I don't want to be the godfather of another red-headed brat that will be haunting Hogwarts' hallways in a few years."

"You know – if that should be the case, us travelling won't deter Lavender..." Hermione pointed out thoughtfully. "She'll simply postpone the baptism until we're back."

"Fine. So we'll resettle and stay. I've heard the area around Brisbane is liveable. Nice people there, too..."

Hermione laughed at his grumbling. "Yes, but I'd still rather stay here with Noria and Irma - our living arrangements have worked out so well. You'd miss them too - and all our dunderhead friends."

"Maybe a little. On Christmas and for New Year's Eve..." Severus conceded grudgingly. "But don't you dare telling Harry and Draco I said that!"

"As all your secrets, this one's safe with me, too," his wife assured him, snuggling closer and putting her head on his shoulder, face to face with her sleeping baby daughter.

Severus buried his hand in her hair. "It doesn't matter to me where we live," he said softly, surprising her with his sudden solemnity. "Here or at the other end of the world, in an old manor or in Hogwarts or wherever. As long as you're with me, I'm home."

* * *

 _A/N: There – another story done! I hardly can believe it, and as always, I feel a bit sad to part with it. Maybe I'll impersonate Miranda Midges and write that story about Ginny and Peter next :)_

 _As to Hermione's parents: I'm still not sure if she ever gave them the memory potion. In any case, she'll stay closely in contact with them so they can be grand-parents to her and Severus' children, no matter if adopted or biological. I'll leave that up to you to decide._

 _To keep this as close to canon a possible without being illogical, Ginny's firstborn is named James Severus (James Sirius wouldn't really make sense). I think she might have another child in two years, who is named Albert(us) Ernest or Albert Seamus – probably after Peter's other Grandfather. But he'll be called 'Albus' for short. :)_

 _Only after I decided to let Lily be born to Ron and Lavender instead of Ginny and Harry did I realise the private joke surrounding their names: While the females all have names of flowers, the boy is named Hugo – that's what my father used to call some of my pot-plants: those he considered a sorry excuse for a plant that were supposed to look much more impressive, more lush or more straight. But I'm sure that's not true for Hugo Weasley! :)_

 _The line about Australia is a tribute to my beta, Dreamthrower, who helped me so much with her revisions! I can't thank her enough! Her entertaining way of explaining the English language and her brilliant sense humour are reason enough to start something new soon... :)_


	24. Epilogue Two

_A/N: I couldn't help myself! I kept thinking about where Hermione and Severus would be a few years down the road, how many kids they might have and to what houses they might belong to... I figured you might be interested, too, so here it is: An epilogue to the epilogue!_

 _I'm currently working on the promised Christmas chapter(s). I can't say by when I will start posting it, but I'll leave an author's note with this story when I do. Thanks again for reading and reviewing! It's been a lot of fun!_

* * *

 **Epilogue Two**

The Great Hall looked as festive as ever – hundreds of candles floating in the air, fires blazing in the braziers on the wall and the polished tables laid for the coming banquet.

Severus sat in the headmaster's chair in the middle of the staff table and felt a pang of melancholy when looking down at the excited students at the four house tables. This year's sorting was going to be another turning point in his life, signifying the end and the beginning of a new chapter. His baby daughter was starting at Hogwarts – the last one to leave their nest at Prince House where they had lived as a family, including Great-Aunt Noria and Aunt Irma, for so many years now.

The four kids had without doubt brought the old mansion to life during that time, not to mention all the pets. Now, with the last kid gone, quiet would descend again, just like before he and Hermione had made it their home.

Sure, the restricted connection from the headmaster's private suite in Hogwarts to their living room in Prince House would remain, as he still intended to spent his nights at home with his wife. But all the kids slept in their respective dormitories, just like every other student, and didn't get the privilege of quickly flooing home to see their mother. He knew it was going to be hard on Hermione – and on Noria, who was like a grand-mother to his brood. He was glad to be the headmaster now, as he couldn't even imagine not seeing his kids every day. He wouldn't be surprised if Hermione decided to give up her job at the ministry came to teach here as well. After so many years working as an Unspeakable, she was qualified in almost every subject – most of all Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Charms. With a little coaching, he had no doubt that she would be proficient enough to even teach Potions. Hm... that might be an option to ponder.

The doors to the Great Hall flew open and Draco, Deputy Headmaster, Head of Slytherin and still Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, brought the first years in. Almost immediately, Severus spotted his daughter among them, who looked just as excited as the rest of the lot. It had felt strange escorting her to King's Cross this morning and putting her on to the Hogwart's Express, when her room was – at least for him – just a door away.

But it wouldn't have been appropriate to bring his daughter to Hogwarts by using the passageway. It had been the train for her, just like for every other student, and he wouldn't have had it any other way. The long journey from London to Scotland in the old steam train, which had originally been the only means of transport suited to bring the Muggleborn students to the school, was now the only opportunity to get to know fellow students without house prejudice already in the way, and had long since become a rite of passage. The six hours between saying good-by to parents and arriving in their new home brought awareness to the separation and was a first step to independence.

It had also made him and Hermione very aware of the fact that their last child was fledging. Although Hermione could not officially attend the Welcome Feast, Severus suspected that she had snuck into the Great Hall to witness the sorting of her baby daughter. He thought he had seen the tell-tale flickering of a Disillusionment Charm in the left corner, and was sure that if he reached out for her with Legilimency, he would find his suspicion confirmed. With all the practice and research he and Hermione had done on the subject, they had long since perfected mind-to-mind communication to a form of art. However, he chose not to employ the means at his disposal but rather pretend ignorance. Although Hermione had cheerfully waved good-bye when they had both seen their excited first-year off at the station, Severus knew that it tore at her heart to see her youngest leave the nest. Tonight, he doubtlessly had a witch to console, and it was a good thing that he already had plans on how to do so.

His attention was once more brought back to the proceedings in the Hall when Neville Longbottom, Head of Gryffindor, carried in the Sorting Hat. As soon as the old and battered headgear had sung this year's song (which had been terribly buoyant – the hat had been unconcerned about school unity for a couple of years now), Neville called up the first name on the list, Caledonia Adams, and a small, blond girl with pigtails excitedly climbed onto the chair.

Severus still remembered the Sorting Ceremony six years ago, when Athena had been sitting on that chair, a bit nervous, but composed, with a clear idea in mind into which house she wanted to be sorted. The hat hadn't taken long to decide: Ravenclaw had gotten his firstborn daughter. He and Hermione had chosen her name perfectly: Athena was walking wisdom. A rather aloof, studious and incredibly smart girl – it was hard to tell if she resembled him or Hermione in that regard. Athena was like a young Hermione and a young Severus rolled into one. She might have been considered a bit of a nerd in any of the other houses, but in Ravenclaw, she was among kids who accepted and respected her for her brains. Just like Hermione at her age, she spent most of her free time in the library, which was still managed by Irma, to whom Athena had always been particularly close.

Severus might have been concerned for Athena, given that she had so little in common with other kids her age, which, in his experience, made them prone to being mobbed by others. But Athena was too smart and too powerful a witch to be made a victim. She had a healthy dose of self-confidence, too, and it showed. Instead of mobbing her, kids who found her peculiar rather maintained a careful distance. Her scowl (yes, she had learned to scowl rather well) usually was enough to stop anyone from pestering her, and that included her siblings.

While Athena approached everything about school with great seriousness, she was totally different at home. Much like himself, he had to admit. His students would be flabbergasted if they ever saw him at home with his family – joking, teasing, laughing. And at home, during the holidays, Athena was laughing, fighting and playing with her siblings just like any other kid, being especially affectionate with her youngest sister.

Scorpius and James, who had basically grown up with her, were Athena's closest friends, which also helped considerably with her social standing. Technically, they were about a year older, but they had all ended up as year mates, since Athena, at the end of her first Hogwarts year, had jumped straight into third, when it had become clear that she was way ahead of her year mates intellectually. Severus was always reminded a bit of the Golden Trio when he saw them together. They weren't quite as inseparable as Harry, Hermione and Ron had been at the time, given that they were in different houses, but whenever they stuck their heads together, his responsible and studious daughter was prone to get into mischief – though she always claimed that she was just trying to keep the boys out of it. Very much like a certain Know-it-All, he remembered...

A year later, Ophelia had been sorted, who would be taking her OWLS this year. Unlike Athena, she bore little resemblance with either of her parents, at least physically. Apart from having inherited his dark hair and Hermione's petite frame, she didn't look like anyone in the family. She was the prettiest of his girls, and she knew it. Her hair was slightly wavy all the time, not like Athena's, which would still start curling when she was particularly agitated. Ophelia would be appalled if her emotional state was so openly on display.

To everybody's surprise, her eyes were a sparkling blue, just like those of her maternal grandfather. But even people who didn't know that blue eyes did indeed run in the family couldn't doubt that Ophélia was his daughter. She was a Slytherin to the core – cunning, smart and with an inborn talent to read and manipulate people. She could be incredibly sweet too, had impeccable manners and thus had her great-aunt Noria wrapped around her little finger. It was a good thing that she had her heart in the right place, because as a dark witch, Ophelia would really be scary. Of all of his children, she was the one he could most easily relate to, as her way of thinking and her way of acting were so familiar. The two of them usually agreed on everything, which was a good thing, as Athena and Tristan usually sided with Hermione. Serena, bless her, always took on the role of mediator, eager to keep the harmony.

While Athena was not outright social, she had her small, albeit close circle of friends. Ophelia was the exact opposite in that regard: She was friendly and polite with most people and well-liked among her peers, but she wasn't particularly close with anyone. Lily and Hugo, the Weasley-kids, were in her year, as well Albus, Ginny's and Peter's second son, whose full real name, Albert Shamus, no one ever used. The kids got along fine, but as his wife often pointed out a bit worriedly, they weren't _friends_.

Severus, who admittedly didn't have much experience with friendships, couldn't quite comprehend why that concerned her so. Ophelia was self-sufficient, confident and popular enough. If she wasn't as close with anybody as Hermione herself had been with her friends, it wasn't because kids didn't let her in, but because she chose to keep her distance. He couldn't exactly relate to his wife's firm insistence that everyone needed friends. He didn't have any. Just people he found more bearable than most, and whose company was actually entertaining at times. There was only one person he fully trusted, one person who truly knew all of him and who was privy to his innermost thoughts, feelings and his secrets, and only one person he would ever approach with his doubts and worries: His wife.

Severus was pretty sure that Ophelia was just waiting for that one person to come along. And if he wasn't very much mistaken, she already knew who that person was, even though the boy was totally oblivious of his future role: Scorpius Malfoy. Given that he was three years older and her sister's close friend, he regarded Ophelia as a child and treated her more like a sister who was a bit of a nuisance. Funnily enough, Ophelia wasn't offended or put off by it in the least. She seemed rather indulgent, waited patiently for him to take notice of her – as if he was the one who had to grow up. She seemed secure in the knowledge that it would happen one day. If not, Severus had no doubt that she would make it happen. He sometimes wondered if Luna, her godmother, had somehow bestowed her rather peculiar form of serenity on his daughter.

His gaze fell on his son who was whispering with his closest friends, Lucan and Lysander Scamander, Luna's kids. He didn't pay any attention to the sorting ceremony, as he was caught up in their animated discussion, and also failed to noticed his father's gaze on him. It was a funny feeling, seeing a spitting image of himself sitting at the Gryffindor table – not shunned or looked down upon, but popular among boys and girls of all houses.

Tristan looked almost the same as Severus had looked as a child: The same hair and the same eyes – and the poor boy even seemed to be getting the same prominent nose. An yet, Severus knew that the fourth-grader, who had just started to get curious about the other gender, was considered to be rather good-looking by his female peers. It sure helped that he was well groomed and wore decent clothes, but mostly, it was his easy smile, his outgoing personality and his sunny disposition that made him fanciable. Tristan was good-natured, easy-going and an excellent Quiddich player. There was no doubt he'd make it Head-Boy one day.

Although Severus knew that the boy was smart – he didn't father dunderheads – he was also rather lazy and not too interested in academics. But thanks to his intelligence, he got by adequately with a minimum of effort. Tristan was as straightforward and outspoken as any other Gryffindor, and Severus – who would never have thought it possible a few years ago – was immensely proud of his son. Seeing his past self's look-alike as a happy and well-liked child warmed his heart. In a household of four females, Severus and Tristan were happy to have at least one other who was interested in 'boys-stuff' – like Quidditch, duelling or the (admittedly cool) joke products from the Weasley store.

Severus had witnessed the sorting of three of his children who each went into a different house. So when Neville finally called "Prince, Serena" and his little angel hopped on the chair, he was not at all surprised when the hat immediately exclaimed 'Hufflepuff' on touching the caramel crown of his youngest daughter's head. Serena looked over her shoulder to the head table and gave him a happy smile. He couldn't help smiling back. Just like Athena, Serena was rather quiet, though not as withdrawn. She was interested in people rather than books, much like her brother. She was always kind and friendly, and had a bleeding heart like his wife. They had an entire menagerie of pets at Prince Manor she had brought because they had needed saving of some kind, and Serena loved each and every one of them. Yes, his baby daughter, who thrived on harmony and came to him for hugs and kisses much more often than any of his other kids had done at her age, would do well in Hufflepuff.

Ophelia looked at her father and smirked, probably aware of his mixed feelings about officially being the father of a Hufflepuff – and happy that she would stay the only one who shared his house affiliation – and that of her much adored godfather, Draco.

Tristan, who had finally noticed that his sister had been sorted, grinned when he saw her walk to the Hufflepuff table and gave her the thumbs up. Athena blew her little sister a kiss when she passed by the Ravenclaw table, which earned her a few surprised gazes from her fellow students, who didn't see her openly expressing emotion very often.

Severus, knowing that this year would be the only one where he could look down from the high table and see all of his children, felt his heart swell with pride, gratitude and happiness. One child for each house. No one would ever accuse him of partiality ever again.

* * *

 _What I failed to mention in this epilogue is the turbulence that robbed Severus of a couple of nights' sleep two years ago, when both of his godsons, James Severus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, had used a time-turner which they had stolen from his godfather's wife with the best intentions, but only half-baked plans in mind, to change the fate of Cedric Diggory. It all had almost ended in disaster, but luckily enough, they had Athena, who – thanks to her mother being an Unspeakable – knew a few things and had tools at her disposal that the average kid did not._

 _Instead of saving Cedric in his timeline and risking changing history, they prevented him from reaching the portkey in the maze and whisked him into the future instead. It caused quite a commotion when the boy who had mysteriously gone missing during the Tri-Wizard Tournament so many years ago suddenly re-appeared on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, not realising himself that he had even been gone._

 _No one had really understood why James and Scorpius had risked so much for a boy who had gone missing, but they stubbornly claimed to have rescued him from certain death by the hands of Voldemort._

 _Cedric had a hard time understanding the major time jump he'd done, and was confused to find his peers aged by 20 years. But he quickly got over it – after all, he was now in a better world: His father was still alive and overjoyed to have him back, Voldemort was dead, and Severus Snape turned out to be a decent Headmaster. Besides, living in a Victorian world had the undisputable advantage in his case that nothing had changed much as far as fashion, technology or moral values were concerned. Even the Hogwarts syllabus was still pretty much the same, so Cederic was able to simply continue his studies in his sixth year. He fell madly in love with Athena, who is much smarter and prettier than Cho Chang ever was, at least in her father's opinion._

 _You will hopefully agree with me that this makes so much more sense than what supposedly happened in 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Child' (which admittedly, I've never read, so for me, it hasn't happened, anyway). Writing a story about two kids trying to prevent Cedric's utterly pointless death, only to have him die a second time? What's the point?_

 _I was so happy when I first heard about the play's plot, thinking that it was her long and overdue attempt to right this first wrong. And then she let the whole mission fail? Not in my universe!_


	25. Autor's Notice

Hi guys!

I just wanted to let you know that my working on the missing Christmas chapter has already yielded results...

While in Grimmauld Place, Harry get's a chance to talk to Severus and, as a result of that, asks him if he wants to go to Godric's Hollow with him. Harry wants to visit his parents' grave, like he did last Christmas with Hermione. To his surprise, Severus agrees, and they finally have a chance to talk about all the things that happened in the past.

For me, it was a chance to look more deeply into some of the unanswered questions that remain about the night Lily and James died, the events that led to it and a number of other issues I personally considered plot holes. (Full list of the adressed topics at the beginning of the first chapter).

The discussion was meant to be just a chapter, but as always, it has turned into a multi-chaptered piece again. I've started publishing it under the title 'The Truth Behind it All'. Please be warned that it's not a fluffy piece full of romance and action (well, romance would have been weird with Harry and Severus anyway), but again a story consisting mainly of dialogue with A LOT of background information.

Once it's finished, I'll go back to the rest of the Christmas Chapters, which are also coming along nicely. :)

Hope you'll enjoy reading!


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